Smashed
by The Ghoul In Pajamas
Summary: Taking it day-by-day and step-by-step. A post Hogwarts tale of love. Despite the incriminating past of Lucius Malfoy, Hermione will find strength in her heart to forgive. How can two mature, broken and lost souls understand that unhappiness doesn't have to be permanent, that a home cannot always be stable and that you cannot always trust the one's from your past.
1. Prologue Page 1

Authors Note: This is my disclaimer, for the entire story. And that goes for all four parts of my story and every page here after. I don't own anything but my imagination. I was inspired J.K. Rowling's wonderful world, and Michel Faber. This is my first Lumione Love. I hope you enjoy it!

Prologue

Page I

The Cave

"The light in my life has gone out. I fear I will be forever in the dark."

Against everything you will witness, hear or see, against everything I will tell you, this is his love story and it begins tonight deep within the belly of a mountain.

The turn of his life starts here in this place, a secret island once heavily sought by hundreds over the centuries, but that overtime it has been forgotten and its history has faded away into wizarding storybooks filled with magic and told to frighten the young.

It is the sort of place that will deceitfully cloud your perception of what is real and what appears to be a trick of the mind. And as you try to keep track of everything you'll discover, you will dread the next turn, the next chamber, the next mystery. You will wait, and wonder of what or who could be lurking behind these sandy walls and predated structures made of stone and earth.

The beauty of this place dates back centuries and was done by a craftsmen's work known once as Boliwick. Boliwick was a goblin, a builder. His designs gives a greater connection to a time before the medieval era. His work made largely of raw elements, and great columns that were welded from the earth itself, protruding up to a heaven that did not exist for his kind. At least not then.

In the cave there are drip stones made of copper, brass, or perhaps the purist of gold stretching down like powerful spears throw from the skies. You will find no crown molding here, no wallpaper covering the dullness of these walls; for those things have not yet come to pass. Above the reflection casting down from the ceiling appears most unusual and it easily gives the illusion of an endless space...

Moisture trickles down each golden deposit, counting the time by a century or more...

These underground spectacles are old, very old and rarely seen today. And it not as if you should be gobsmacked about it, but this cave is also the current location of Harry Potter, and each of Boliwick's golden spears comes to life as the young wizard's wand applies a light to the structures above. The reflection awes him with their striking beauty and rarity. The slightest brownish color of gold and then it vanishes into nothingness.

Yes, you heard me correctly, I did say Harry Potter, but this is not his story.

No, it is not. However, his central role plays a major part in the lives that are soon to change.

Harry was the last to see Narcissa alive, the last to see her before the defeat of Voldemort and now he is standing directly beneath our ceiling of outstanding beauty and surrounded by darkness, drinking in that unwanted feeling a wizard gets when everything has trickled down into an unholy mess.

He curses a second command for light as his wand fades, but it does little to pierce the darkness. "Lumos," he shouts it again and a powerful beam shoots forth and hits a solid wall of unbreakable darkness. "What the bloody hell is this place?"

The light coming from Harry's wand should be enough, but the darkness here is decrepitly wicked. Even his glasses are losing the battle to give clear sight, and he crosses face first into a layer of cobwebs, and he grumbles another flow of foul words. Spiders, dust, webs and Merlin knows what more entangles into his hair, but don't let that stop you, venture on as my story urges you and Mr. Potter forward. Hurry now, and do not dwell on your fear, or the feeling of utter evilness lurking as you pass another drip stone with him.

Instead my advice is this, stay close to him, this is no night to go wandering alone. If you've wondered across my story, then you know the tale of Hogwarts and you've lived with London's rivalry against Lord Voldemort for as long as anyone, you were there when Harry finally defeated and slew the Dark Lord in battle, you were there beside the D.A., and the Order as each valiantly fought against Death eaters and giants, you were also there, when the call for victory rung across the grounds, and at the iron gates of the castle... were you not?

Yes, but there was one place you were not and I will take you.


	2. Prologue Page 2

**Prologue**

**Page 2**

**Gubraithian's Flame**

Every pair of eyes turned in the Direction of Professor McGonagall as she stood on the platform of the Great Hall.

_"...evacuation_ _will be overseen by Mr. Filch and Madam Pompfrey. Prefects, when I give the word, you_ _will organize your House and take charge, in an orderly fashion, to the evacuation point."_

The portrait of Ariana Dumbledore, the one used by Neville as he searched for Harry and the others— Yes that's the one, you remember. It was the great portrait leading to Aberforth's pub, the one used to free the students during the height of the battle. This is where the disturbing truth begins. . . .

McGonagall's instructions were simple as she ordered a seething Pansy Parkinson the first to march out the Hall, and the first to be escorted to the portrait.

Filch stood by guarding the entrance of the corridors as the student lined in behind Madam Pompfrey and Pansy.

'_Abandon them? Abandon her home, her friends, the castle. Avoid the war at all cost, but what of the cost to her self worth, what of that. She would never be able to live with the thought of running away.'_ this thought and others raced through Poppy as she directed the students out. She followed the Head Mistresses wishes but she wanted very much to stay and fight.

Just as she cleared the threshold leading them into the D.A's Headquarters, Poppy turned her attention to the students loading in behind her heels. She knew in her heart she couldn't just leave her friends behind. She was a healer through-and-through, as far back in her family as she could remember. Pomona and Minerva, they were going to need her in there. There will be casualities and injuries like none either of them had ever seen, yet alone knew how to deal with. Her voice was flat, smooth and as calming as a mother's when she took a deep breath and spoke."Those who are unwilling to battle, you will follow my apprentice out to safety."

She then turned her eyes onto Dean Thomas.

Poppy had never known any student to be as devoted to becoming a Healer as he was.

Before fleeing for his life, he would pay her a visit every weekend hin hopes of picking up a new healing spell. He made her proud, and there was no doubt in her mind about it, he would become a fine Healer someday. "This sounds like a job for my finest pupil." she whispered softly to him. she cleared her throat and hoped that her voice wouldn't be choked off by the sudden swell of emotions rising within her. "A Healer's best magic is prevention from injury remember?"

Every frighten pair of eyes now sifted over to Dean Thomas, his stomach jumped nervously as he nodded yes, that he did remember the Healer's first pledge to honor. It was the pledge to honor above all others.

He'd been so brave throughout the evening and impossibly handsome wearing the lime green robe she'd given him. Tall and proud of the skills he'd obtained from her, and so damned good at healing charms. Then he smiled at her and he knew just what she was about to say.

"Dean, you must lead the children through the Room of Requirements, take the portrait, it is an exit from the school and tell the other students you find along the way of the necessary precaution to reach the opposite side safely. May Merlin be with you." she said and kissed his forehead long and hard. Fate had never given her anything close to a son until this young wizard walked through her infirmary doors. The next few minutes went by extremely fast as she gave him a double dose of information, spell blockers, protective charms, cold snapps...anything she felt he would need along the way. Madam Pompfrey then pulled him into her arms with a hug before doubling back through the Headquarter doors and heading for Minerva, the Great Battle, and ready to fulfill her duty as a Healer.

"Alright listen up everyone!" Dean started issuing orders to their emergency plan as quickly as he could after that.

* * *

Each time the portrait door would swing open, a fresh crowd would shift forward exiting into the secret Neville had been guarding. Slytherins, then Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws soon followed by Gryffindors. Youngest to oldest, smallest to tallest, but older students too frightened to wait their turn hurdled over the terrified tiny first years who craned their necks to look over a throng of third, and second years, towering over them all. Many of them began spitting harsh, ugly words as they were shoved inside the dark and drafty portrait's tunnel.

You couldn't blame them. The kids I mean. This particular passage hasn't been used for more than fifty years; few knew of its existence since the room would only reveal its secrets when the user was in desperate need.

Past the portrait frame was an infestation of filth, cockroaches, rats larger than a wombat, sleeping spiders and cobwebs so thick and stringy they flashed in the darkness. Tiny screams coming from one section of teenager girls fill the tunnel with excitement as another small group filed in behind the portrait. The girls stood away from the dirty walls and away from embarrassment of bossy Slytherin boys, who unlike the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws insisted on shouting loudly at the younger boys in a means to seem overly courageous. A throng of Hufflepuffs moved further in looking nervously down towards the darkness coming from the other end,aggravated with the school's lack of security; they were all afraid, the Slytherins too, not that any of them would admit it out loud of course.

Several more girls began screaming for no reason at all.

"Hush it!" Dean shouted, he had finally had enough of their whining. There were loads for him to remember and not one of them were helping, or making it any easier.

Marcus Belby, a seventh year from the house of Ravenclaw found a greasy old torch perched upon the wall and lit it with his wand, just has a flittermouse whizzed by straight as an arrow. He then took the hand of his year-long girlfriend, when she screamed from the fright of it. Zoe Accrington from the house of Slytherin, she and Marcus had been courting with the desperate hopes of marriage someday. He kissed her in front of the entire crowd and she gave him a shaky smile, she was very scared now, but squeezed his hand for comfort. Tonight they held a precious little secret of their very own.

Marcus kissed her again, his kiss making her a silent promise, that he would lay down his very life to keep her and their baby safe.

Those that saw their affection to one another looked surprised, some frowned, others undecided or didn't they care because next they all saw a gigantic shadow extending across the floor, it grew from the farthest end of the tunnel towards them. The shape of a person was moving quickly from the exiting end. It only took seconds before the one shadow had formed into more just like it.

A minute or so later, a second torch came into view, it was flickering brightly in the hand of an unknown man. The unknown man was easily six feet tall, if not more, and wearing a long black robe that covered his entire frame, and bearing the dark mark insignia over the left side of his chest, positioned just above his heart. His face or eyes carefully guarded by a metallic polished mask that concealed his true identity.

A smoky sheet of vapor creeped across the floor with him.

Dean while still gazing up at the unknown man dressed in black, noticed two more dark shadows moving in. Soon there stood four, more long, iron torches. Their pitches made of stone and each bearing a flame. The four were also dressed in the same fashion as the grand master, totally in black, and standing just before Dean and the children.

More began piling in and facing them. The first and tallest spoke, he had a deep English accent as he gave orders to the others moving up into the tunnel and standing behind him.

"Well,well,what have we here." he pestered them. And in his right hand he repositioned the iron staff bearing fire to his other free hand. Pansy's ears perked, the gaucheness of the man's voice, sounded so familiar that it made her ears twitch. He sounded exactly like her father but she wasn't sure.

_So it had come to this?_ the man thought. _Look at them cowering like animals._

Pansy moved closer, away from the crowd. That was when he saw her, and it was a painfully slow realization for him. "Father?" his daughter's voice carried like the echo of a small bird.

"Get to the back you fool!" a woman's voice ranged out from beneath her cover, a black pointed hoods draping over her face combined with a shining metallic mask concealed her features. She then turned her gaze upon the man that Pansy had spoken to. "You've taught her nothing!" she said in a tone of disgust, anger clearly marking each word.

Pansy froze on the spot to the woman's order, and the man she believed to be her father poised his flaming torch higher allowing it glow a rain of light down on their faces. The children moved back almost instantly.

The followers behind the first five were all standing at attention like pawns on a chessboard preparing to moved by their master's hand when the time came.

"Who are they?" other kids asked for a minute or two.

"Parkinson do you know them?" Dean asked in a shaken voice.

Blind instinct warned her. She felt the heat of her mark burning beneath her skin."You'd better run." was all that she could say to Dean.

From beneath her cloak the hooded witch removed a human skull. A second masked wizard moved beside her, a serpent coiled around his forearm, using one hand the witch turned the skull counter-clock wise facing the crowd of children and with her other hand she removed a part from the skulls backing, where the wizard pressed the live serpent inside.

"Run. . . .now." Pansy shouted to them, and she began backing away so fast she fell over.

"Sort out the purest." It was a the last thing they heard, a single whisper spoken by the witch, spoken directly into Gubraithian's flame upon the staff. The tallest wizard then took his torch, pushed it into the base of the skull and out shot red balls of fire that hit four with such speed, they fell to the ground swallowed up by the heated blast of the orbs. Dean was among the first of the four to fall dead, and at that moment snake-like flames broke away from the skulls eyes and opened mouth.

They all ran as a ring of fire emerged high above them and flew around in a circle, blocking them as it ascended higher up to the ceiling."FATHER?" Pansy uttered a deep blood curdling scream, she had become trapped like the others.

"Do as you were told!" was her father's only command, a tremble in his voice giving evidence to the fear that had struck to his bowels as the flame rose higher. His daughter his own flesh and blood among these lambs of slaughter. _Damn, Amycus_ _he was suppose to_ _keep her safe. He'd have his vengeance with him later should anything happen to her._


	3. Prologue Page 3

**This page is experiencing technical difficulties. It will be up shortly. Please continue to page 4, thank you.**


	4. Prologue Page 4

Prologue

Page 4

Madam Pompfrey and McGonagall had just begun tending to Neville's burns when Blaise came through the double doors of the Great Hall with the girl wrapped tightly in his arms, her name was Florine Peters a fourth year and the two looked twice as bad as those from battle.

The poltergeist Peeves was yelling and shouting self-made songs of congrats and hip-hip-hurrays from above. Mrs. McGonagall was releasing a spell, securing Longbottom's bandages when she spotted Filch running, eight severely wounded students running with him. She, Harry and those with them knew something was wrong the moment they entered.

Blaise could hardly catch his breath. He tried to get Florine to stand on her own, but she was in shock and simply wouldn't let go. "They're killing'em Potter, the bloody bastards are murdering 'em all—we didn't make it—we didn't make it—the sons a bitches—the—bloodly—coward—ly—sons—a—bitches!" Zabini squeezed his arms around the girl tighter, he realized he just didn't have the strength to tell them what was happening inside the portal. . . . .

* * *

Harry hasn't moved in the dark cave, he's desperately wanting to put the coming dawn out of his mind. Filch's memory and the memory of the survivors were all retrieved. It proved to them that there was no sign—no warning—so how was anyone to know? His memory torments him with every detail of crime given by the Pensieve. He recalled every detail, like a victim recalling the sharpness of a blade when it slices. Harry stopped, he was lost in the cave and his best guess, is that Kingsley and the others had turned back and were putting together an investigation team from the Minister's office. They'll be arriving at the front gates of the school any moment, possibly even there now, and then they would come looking for him and the others.

If only they'd not gone back in search of Professor Snape. Such a heinous act was particularly ironic, because those killed were deliberately targeted due to their blood status, and shortly after Voldemort's failure to finish Harry off.

Owls and howlers ripped through all of Magical London issuing warnings for families and loved ones to be on the outlook, no mention of the slaughter being made public thus far. Harry takes another deep breath trying to empty his rage again. Losing control wouldn't bring any of them back, and it wouldn't find those at fault for all this. And then he reminded himself that they had to find something fast, because the bastards destroyed any detail of who they were with the use of cursed fire known as Gubraithian's Flame.

* * *

After Kinglsey's orders, Arthur, Lucius and the a few others were permitted to form a search party for Narcissa, leaving behind Filch, Kreacher and George. George would signal them with a patronus when their time was up. Arthur took a little time beginning their search, using the little time they had which was sweeping by painfully fast. However, Mr. Weasley realized they would do no one any good if anyone else fell victim to the evil army that was still very much at large.

Harry's body jolts a new soreness with each step he takes now, but he has to keep moving, his strength can't waver now. Vigilant and ready, ready for anyone or anything.

In the next instant Harry apparates to the other side of the cave without so much as knowing where he was going, _'Highly dangerous.' _he thought to himself. But he didn't need a perception, and to be honest at this moment he didn't give a rat's arse if he popped himself right off the mountainside. At least then he be beyond this craziness dwelling inside of him, beyond all the darkness, beyond the anger, beyond the swirling pit of black hating vengeance for what they had done. The heaviness of the evacuation point was clinging to him like the dampness in this cave. Everything kept coming back to haunt him; he was going mad.

A voice in his head kept telling him that he was to blame for their deaths and the more he listened to the voice, the more he felt sorrow mingled with regret and then with rage, emptiness, hopelessness. If only he had taken the time to think more carefully about their safety, then he would have chosen to send them to the infirmary instead, they should have taken cover there.

But it was too late now, and he's here among the fury, his body trembling from it and his mind past its breaking point. Now he has to accept the truth; that he was trying his luck, going back to the Shrieking Shack, thinking the worst was behind them and that nothing more could go wrong. . . . .

But it did, and next they realised that Narcissa had not returned from the Shack with the rest of them."

* * *

"_Where is she," urged Lucius the moment he entered the Hall. "where's my wife?"_

_But no one knew, endless seconds stretch by as he tore through the school's corridors, hopeful she had just fallen behind. _

_She never appeared, and Harry could see he's dying inside. _

_With each passing moment that she didn't answer her husband, they had to accept that she was unable to._

_Blaise and Flinch arrive with the surviors, the nightmare continued to unfold, Ministry Enforcements arrived by the dozens, sealing the Room of Requirements and blocking out the fire creatures in an attempt to protect the rest of them._

_Kreacher appeared at Harry's foot clinging to a man's boot. The elf was barely alive and losing a great deal of blood. His ability to get away had been luck. His desperate attempt to save Narcissa nearly costing him his own life. He'd been beaten and stabbed several times._

_"My blood! Poor Mistresses blood is on Kreacher's hands because—couldn't stop— lifted the broken door, but—She was so strong—NO—Mistress!— Monster!—don't nooo—don't—." __The rest of the words were lost under the elf's croaking voice of frustration and tears. He crouched on the floor sheilding his face from a man that simply was not there in the room with them._

* * *

Harry has stopped walking, so I recommend that you stop with him.

Wait and listen closely to the sounds around you tonight. Listen hard to the dripping of the water as it plummets into a puddle of what will soon form a new deposit, so please be careful where you step because there are other things living in these waters; magical things, mysterious little organisms that only the Lovegood's would find of major importance.

The silence of the cave draws in Harry's attention, the dripping of the water, the rhythm of the ocean beyond. He stood still, the distant cry of an animal that made a sound most unnatural and then again the drops, drip-drip-dripping from the strange ceiling of gold into dark waters below it.

The drops fell on time always.

He apparates in one direction, the sound of the waves were clear and loud, then they grew faint again, very faint. But undeniably there and impossible to ignore that the rhythm had changed slightly, someone was standing in the way of the drip-drip-dripping, and he could sense the presence of someone there as easily as he feels the crumbling of pebble stones beneath his shoes.

Three moments of silence, he could almost feel someone next to him, sending out the most malevolent hate towards him. The hairs on the back of his neck stood out, his ears perk sharply as the soft ripples of more footsteps vibrates through a puddle not far away. His chest is pounding from all the adrenaline combining with his fingers and tingling with the power of his wand he apparates quickly from that spot, reappearing a few feet away, his eyes wildly searching for movement. Harry continues to pop in an out of being and not being when another faint light appears and then disappears; he was beginning followed. Someone else is there, its no longer a figment of his imagination.

The form of a hand was emerging with the wand light and a second shape moved not far from the last stop he'd dissapparated from! Patience now, there's no room anymore for fatal mistakes. He crouches behind an erect stone, conceals himself with his invisibility cloak. Taking aim, he rushes the unseen person before they can tag his location.

_"Crucio!" _Harry shouts, charging without a moment's thought as the words came bursting from his lips like the speed of lightning when it strikes.

The night, perhaps even the battle has changed him forever, forced him to become what was not in his nature; a hunter, casting an unforgivable without certainty or precaution, the willingness to harm or even kill another man. This was never his nature but all things change sooner, or if not, soon enough don't they?

* * *

I'm sorry to tell you that you'll not stay with Harry much longer. Soon it will be time for me to lead you to another wizard, one you already know and he is the protagonists of our story. So be careful now and watch your step as you follow Harry to the rise and fall of a man's heavy breathing... follow him as he inches his way towards his victim.


	5. Prologue Page 5

**Prologue**

Page 5

There are several people throughout our story I shall introduce you to. Some may carry a major importance while others, not so much.

Here is a female witch by the name of Elador Tutty who often shouts out of sheer frustration when on missions.

Most in her department considered her wee bit barmy due to her harsh use of language which is seen as unsuitable for a witch coming from the Halls of Beauxbaton. In fact, her blue butterflies had more practice at wand winging than she had to do with anything expected of a witch from Beauxbaton Academy. Profanity was her preference of expression when things didn't go as planned, and the conversation taking place now was one of her many quarrels for tonight.

"Excuse me fer noticing, but 'aven't we gone zis effing way before, are you zoking?" she shouted, kicking her way through the mud and grass clinging to her heels.

She shoved past Draco, quickly gripping his arm at the bend and moving him aside as if it were rude for him to put his backside to her. "—tell me ur effing yankin ze griffin by ze bollocks Arthur! Are ve 'ere again?"

* * *

Tutty was a quarter-Veela witch, young and of the most attractive appearance with flaming red hair that ran in a chaos of curls spiraling down her back and over strange dark eyes. She was tall and very slender, wearing a tawny colored shirt and muggle-men trouser that were tucked inside of knee-high black boots. She gave a bean for caution nor authority; coming from an academy where they were both often forced into young witches far more than it should have been.

The Head Mistresses form of rearing made it very difficult for girls like her to challenge wizard in their occupation yet alone another witch. They were the ladies of Beauxbaton Academy, but the world chewed up and devoured weak witches. After Tutty completed her studies and began her training as a Ministry Auror. She tossed Madame Maxime ridiculous rules and acts of nobility into a broom-stick closet with her boggarts. That's were they belonged. Tutty felt she held a higher percentage of noble blood than the Head Mistress by any means, and she saw many of her academy's rules of nobleness for young witches as nothing more than restrictions, set to venture them away from highly-paid opportunities that their Madame Maxime considered most dangerous and unfit for ladies- it was bondage, fearing the unknown, and it often followed them well into their adult lives.

She refused to be just another breath-taking Veela from Beauxbaton, and there was nothing fearful about this place. Her eyes followed the green peak of the island as it broke away into several long and winding trails guiding them upward. After five tries, that was when she figured it all out, that the pathways alone were not their only problem.

On the first and second try the many paths led them into dead ends, or rather the island itself somehow rerouted them back to the very beginning. Tutty was quickly understanding that it was the entire island that was befuddled with magic; meant to drive them in circles and run them mad with confusion and eventually doubt. The mind of course is the perfect trap. But it didn't take her, nor Hermione long to figure out a way to foolproof their navigation and simplify things. The wizards there were just as knowing but with Hermione being the youngest witch other than Molly and herself, it left Tutty rather au fait with the girl's knowledgeable on certain matters.

She brushed a wave of red curls from her equally colored brows and leaned closer, speaking to Hermione "'Ow do you know all zis?" she asked Granger, whispering the words she thought no one else could hear. "You leeve in books all day!"

"You could say it's a hobby of mine." Hermione didn't smile, she was doing her very best to keep her temper in check with the witch. She got it, Elador was nothing like the witches from Beauxbaton, but she felt that the witch's attitude about doing things was a bit arse over tit!

"I simply enjoy reading the ancient history of Celtic Witchcraft it employs the same basic theology as our own, but with a bit more drawing on mythology than historical facts." said Granger her glare never lowering.

Tutty simply stared at her finding it a bit suspicious as to why someone not beyond her studies and on top of that an English witch, would be reading about Celtician Magic.

"It's been a bit of a new passion," Hermione willfully finished the conversation allowing it to die off, and she began to wonder if she was providing too much about herself and leaving it to be predetermined by the Aurorist.

Granger ended on a silent note. "I've only been studying the—er—firm distintional differences between our—magic and that of others, like Celticians."

Mr. Weasley interrupted the two girls and suggested that they stay focused on the issues at hand. Currently their only concern should be locating Harry and Lucius. The two had moved too far ahead of the group and Arthur found it strange that neither had reported back by now.

Arthur was devouring the surreal idea to simply give up the search and reporting back to the Ministry until further help could be arrive. He had his own family to consider. However, they took their chances on the next three trails, one path at a time and only doubled back when the island gave them no other option. They marked each path as explored before continuing on to the next. It was the only plan they had; for the moment.

* * *

The Final Path

Long and narrow, the wild and muddy passage was not like the others. This one was extending the length of the island.

They passed bluish-green large plants deep amidst the forest. Larger than life-sized flowers which looked venomous with wide open petals allowing the moonlight to come in for nourishment, but allowing none to escape for the lower foliages struggling to survive below. The night's silver beams of light died away to darkness almost instantly upon the jungles ground. There were carnivorous looking pods that had jagged trappers where their petals should have been. It was a barren and foreboding place, with the sound of the sea beating somewhere just ahead, there was a strange howling of an animal here and there.

Once taken this path led them to a windswept wooden bridge that crossed a steep break in the earth below. They walked up, and looked down. Draco spat into opening where the plank had worn away, leaving a view straight to the bottom.

The mountain's walls fell four-hundred feet down. The wooden bridge stretched out a half a mile across. "Solid!" Said Kingsley as he gripped the vines that supported the bridge's body and shook hard. "There's no telling where this will take us."

Draco, stepped away from the edge and back into the protection of the group. Never in his widest stretch of an imagination would he phantom such a fall. This is like a lost world, harsh, green, oddly colorful and dangerously beautiful with an alien plants he has never known.

For the two great openings where the mountain stretched out on either side of them, there was also no floor. A certain death, should the magic holding this bridge choose today to grow old. Draco and the others stood back and watched Mr. Weasley, Kingsley and Tutty go first.

"Wait!" Ron cried. "It would be safer if someone simply apparated to the other end first."

"Bad idea. No idea what we're leaping into." Replied Kingsley's dark voice.

"He's right." Mr. Weasley thought on it first then realized the same. "Should we need to get back at least then we'll have an idea of where we're going."

"Isn't it dangerous. I'm coming with you!" order Molly.

No objection came forth from the others. There was the fact that the vertiginous verticality of the bridge, the cliff and the depth of the mountain's side were all a potential death trap awaiting them. It wasn't reliable enough for a real run, and not only that but it was only wide enough for them to take it in a single file line.

Ronald was shocked at his mother's courage, but strove to conceal it. She hadn't cried for his brother, not once and by now he could only have imagined her insides burning up with panic and turning back, worried sick about his sister Ginny being alone, and without her protection. He said nothing about this thought nor about the dreading fear that it would soon be his turn to walk this connection on the bridge. He wasn't at all afraid of high places, so he was a bit ashamed of himself for becoming slightly afraid of being next in line.

He watched his father nod to his mother's request, and then, his father went for his wand and cast a strengthening charm to secure the vines along the bridge's support line. Silence seemed to grow around them as the magic took its effect. The enormous moon flowers surrounding them ceased to project their fragrance as the spell wrapped its way down the length of the long connection.

Blooming pods snapped shut as if in alarm to intruders, and evergreens withdrew from the moon's beaming rays, retreating into the darkness of the jungle as a black stone rose nine possibly ten feet before the foot of the bridge. Newer and thicker vines quickly replicated a copied pattern, twisting their way down the bridge.

All of them withdrew their wands as the stone's movement vibrated the ground beneath their feet. The three: Arthur, Molly and Kingsley began to inspect the words written etched upon its face.


	6. Prologue Page 6

Prologue

Page 6

_. . .Come back with me now because you've gone too far into the jungle. . . .y__ou're not there remember, our focus is to follow Harry. The jungle is behind him now, but you shouldn't worry they will join him soon, so please be patient._

* * *

Mr. Malfoy thought he saw someone; serves him right for thinking and not reacting. Constant vigilance was essential when at war. Constant vigilance! Never trust anyone, never lower your wand and never be the last to attack! Never mind any of that now though, what's done is done. The electrical surge from Harry's unforgivable vibrated through his chest, arresting the length of his arms, forcing his fingers too become stiff and immobile and lastly the power of it ejecting his wand from his grasp and blowing his weary body to the ground like a piece of clay.

He lies still and waits for the pain and for the discomfort to pass, which ever came first he would be satisfied with it.

Slowly he opens his eyes and attempts to refocus against the blurriness in them. The tightening muscles in his neck refuses to obey his need to survive, and shifting his fingers into the sand just a miserable nudge was all he could manage.

He's done. It was over. The blast had taken the wind from his chest, and this son-of-a-bitch was moving in to finish him off now. "Hold on—wait!" Mr. Malfoy grunts, but his voice carries no weight, no command, and his throat it simply tightens more. His captor uses magic against him once more, this time a flick tosses him over on his backside. Lucius's mind runs wild. Any second now and the killing curse would be upon him. One closing blow and he'd never find her. "Wait god dammit!" he forces the wind out of his chest with a determined growl this time. "I'll give him to you."His breathing has become heavy and filled with panic, his voice is feeble and weak; but for the one close enough to listen it is distinctively clear. "He's who you want— right. I'll give him to you—."

"Mr. Malfoy?" A younger man's voice sounded out just inches above him. Harry steadies his wand light and moved in closer to the wizard lying at his feet.

_'Potter' _Mr. Malfoy thinks inwardly. His lips freeze. _'What the hell. . . .' _It was just his luck to be out wand by a seventeen year old, this pissed him off. Plus there was a fresh deal of pain rising through his body to add to his frustration. His anger was short-lived. He wouldn't blame the boy for his next action, but if the boy did nothing, then he would address his carelessness once they regrouped with the others and saved his wife.

If it had been his call, the killing curse would have been his first choice not a stunner. Dead enemies are always safer than live ones.

Lucius slowly moved his left hand through the sands and then the other one. The small down turn in the center of his brows indicating that his mind and his memory are delving as deeply as his fingers. His fingers came up with nothing as the sand slipped through them, but his memory was about to, so to speak, put a finger on the truth.

The blast nearly knocked him unconscious and fogged his brain, but not so much that he couldn't make the connection in what he had just said and who had heard his cowardly plea. Lucius thought with bitter irony that perhaps in some narrow way this one boy had greater protection than anyone could possibly understand, least of all someone like him. And under other circumstances he would have pinpointed the boy's miraculous way of coming out always on top of things as coincidence, but not now, not anymore.

He stared right into the glowing ball of light coming from Harry's wand as it filled in the distance between them. He lay there helpless like a child as the boy's hand strecthed out, and Lucius kept his eye upon the light for an inordinately long time;or rather, so long that the time seemed infinite. Harry shot his free arm out to help him up. "Sorry…are you alright?" said Harry, now realizing just who the unknown presence had been all this time. "Guess I'm a bit jumpy."

He stopped, he thought to apologize more but didn't. If it had been Ronald's choice, Lucius would be dead right now, so he was relieved to know that he hadn't turned completely into a killer. He cast a renervating spell, not so sure if he could recall the precise movement that his wand should go, but it's worth a try, besides, they couldn't wait all night for Lucius to recover.

It was a struggle to twine his hands with a man like Lucius Malfoy, but he managed, plus forced himself to believe that his decision not to kill the man was a wise one._  
_

* * *

The Visitor

The two had bearly been standing side by side for less than a moment when a white misty haze moved into the cave with them. It was so thick that it held the consistency of sludge on a wooden spoon.

"What is that?" Harry asks as he watched the mist moving in past the Boliwick columns.

"You followed me?" Lucius finally said now that the lingering effects of the curse had worn off completely. The look on his face was wild and furious.

"No. You followed me." Harry responded back. His reply a little heated. It was obvious neither wizard had seen the other entering the cave. But Harry couldn't help thinking that if he had been one of _them_, that Lucius would have been more than willing to surrender him over. "Any word from the others, have they found any sign of her yet Sir?" Harry asked a little out of breath from the flood of adrenaline pumping into his heart, rushing his air supply. He had to squint to find the other wizard standing right there with him. He didn't trust him, so he couldn't lose sight of him a second time. But his glasses were fogging up as the thick fog continued to bellow in like pillowed hilltops, a faint blue flash of light pulsating within like a heartbeat.

A gentle sweep of air slipped in, pushing the fog into rotating mounds of blue, then black edged with a brilliant white clasp of light, one cloud after another came sailing towards them like huge bags and when the rotation finally stopped. The clouds, they were being split open and from the center there came the faint sounds of a woman crying.

Lucius pressed his lips together.

The bluish heartbeat began to slowly grow and grow until it began to form the shape of some sort of spirit coming from the depths of the fog and then everything was still yet again. The shape stood right in front of them. Lucius was unable to make out Harry's features clearly. So he did not speak to him as all this was happening. There was a bright flicker—out popped a little blue flame dancing back and forth.

Harry saw it hobble on top of some rocks. He approached it carefully and was about to bend down and touch the flame when it bounced over him in one leap. "Leave it!" Lucius shouted then dissapointment in his tone, and he quickly found his wand, pointed it at the dancing flame, "Ignis Fatuus!" was all he said and suddenly there was another breeze swiftly filling the cave and the flame tilted and twirled on the spot.

Out popped two arms, and the tiny flame continued to rotate with enormous speed.

There wasn't an apparent anything as far as Harry could see, but it was clear that whatever it was, it most definitely didn't like the sound of _'Ingnis Fatuus'. _

The Hinkypunk twirled in circles around Harry first. It stopped then turned on its one leg, twisting it too like a whirlwind beginning at its feet and passing the entire movement up into its entire form, twirling everything in its being. The short stops of its motion created a sucking mini vortex exactly where its one leg should have been. It was a magical thing.

"Careful. It's just a hinkypunk." Lucius said at once pointing his wand towards the angry creature. "They don't like being found out."

Harry could almost catch something of the creature's face as it moved so quickly spreading its arms out. One hand pushing the other, spinning, and then pushing and then spinning, the other one grasping something.

When Lucius was younger he seen many hinkypunks as a boy but he was never foolish enough to follow one. Often times though he would wondered what all their movements meant. But it was clear that this particular creature seemed to be attracted more to Potter, almost beckoning him as if it were trying to show him something.

The twirling creature whispered a name and Lucius' heart sunk into his lower gut.

The creature's arms rolled in upon itself and then out again, but only this time out popped a lantern of blue light with its hand.

_"no please. . . no."_

It was Narcissa's voice. Lucius' face went white, and this humored the creature, it laughed.

With its one undistinguished foot pointed slightly down it spun towards and then down the chamber's path.

"After it!" Lucius shouted.

Harry responded back springing into action instantly. "I planned on it." he wanted his tone to offer as much reassurance as he could. However, the silence that filled in around them after the hinkypunk vanished left them both wonder on the truth.

"Lumos Maxima." Harry's phoenix wand ignited to his command, acting as a portable flashlight. He was grateful to have it back again, his wand. Thankful that the elder's wand was able to mend it.

* * *

Exactly Nowhere

He gave a second look out onto a darken beach below.

There was nothing.

Nowhere to go, but to the sea. The nameless hinkypunk had vanished into thin air and neither of them had been able to find it since. Plus he simply didn't like the feeling of this place and he'd gotten lost twice when he thought he had spotted the blue light again. Nearly died once when one of the chambers collapsed sealing him and Lucius to their deaths. The only thing he was succeeding in, was successfully murdered Draco's parents off one by one. The night. . . the war. . .the disconnected reality of it all. . . and this place, its layout, it was so very confusing that it made him feel as if he was slowly losing it. There were so many tunnels he no longer knew which way was out.

They both found large boulders to sit on. Neither spoke to the other.

Lucius had withdrawn into a shallow version of himself, he too seemed disconnected. Both men sent out a patronus, hoping the others would locate them soon.

They had been searching all night it seemed and these chambers were clearly designed by someone or something extremely skilled in powerful delusions because they both kept losing their way.

The tunnels were bizarre each one seemed to be identical to the last the instant you moved on.

And as they searched, they discovered there was not a single path leading out to the ocean, there were six different ones, and no matter which path they took each replicated the other in exact detail, right down to the last boulder stone, plus they gained no progress after taking the last four. This forced them to believe that they made a mistake following the blue light, so they'd double back in pursuit of a different way out, fighting with one another for getting crossed up and wasting more time.

* * *

_**Thank you for reading, please leave a review. This is my first Lumione. Please see my profile for the Story's Cover Page**_


	7. Prologue Page 7

Prologue

Page 7

Ancient Magical Knowhows

The Shul is a sacred place. Peculiar, I suspect that you've no idea what I'm speaking of. It may seem strange to go on about this place in relation to a love story. But I do mention it in the fullest deliberation and in all seriousness to rekindle your memory of it.

Magic has a way of reaching us when we least expect it; through the heavy mist along Diagon Alley, through a silent prayer spoken even from the lips of a non-believer, or through something as modest as a novel.

Celtic Magic is a way of total trust in the divine presence and divine goodness of all things pure. This same presence will manifest itself in magical beings when needed. This power may also show itself to muggles in a single profound dream of hope. For example, one's total trust and hope of survival. And it can only arise within the deepest, most entirely humble prayer of any human heart.

For those that seek this level of divine power, this realm of total trust does not reach its depth or the height of its own reality unless it also opens out beyond death and beyond darkness and despair. If one's faith in the divine weakens or falters, then little can be done. So are you sure you want to be here, certain you are even worthy and brave enough to carry on?

Yes you say.

And yet you did not know of the name, Shul.

Let 's not be coy, you were hoping I would bear you the shame of not knowing weren't you, or at least continue on until you could figure the meaning and the magic I am speaking of?

If you think I'm going to violate the Law of Secrecy filling your inferior mind in on the minor details, then you're wasting a lot of my time. You are not paying attention, what do you think I've been doing? I should just carry on with this tale without you.

You may wonder, then: Why did I bring you this far? Why did I not just end the story at the beginning, or why write this blimey thing at all?

. . . .Why indeed? But the answer is simple: Perhaps I'm beyond hope that there is a bit of magic inside of you somewhere. And if this is true, then you would have already known that at one time this place, this temple had been a place of great importance. You would've already known it was extremely old, large and fashioned from ancient stones and made of and by the oldest magic. You would have known that it smelled of the earth like the jungle around you tonight.

The knowledge would have come to you, through the memories of the stories you once heard as a wee babe. So, it is not a doubt in my mind that you are worth talking to, worth this story.—But first I must warn you though, that this is a different sort of place all together, where happy endings were an exotic distant dream to many that have come here and that have searched for this place. Some never returned.

* * *

The Shul's outer appearance was worn and weather-beaten due to decades of history and time gone by. A multitude of untold storms left its landmark here. Hard rains and strong winds were the norm here for the island. Few had memory of it exact location and there is no record of its coordinates easily found in any normal book. Nevertheless, a map for it does exist upon the earth.

A portion of the steps leading up to its entrance has been blown apart, not by elements of nature—no, by something other than a storm or erosion. Centuries of sand patches have recovered the slabs of igneous rock forming thick sheets and layers, showing that no living man as set foot upon them for some time. Fleshy emerald colored moss and native things of green have reclaimed the stony petrifaction leading up to its entrance. Crumbling columns marked its age. Old structured opening believed to be windows gave little to no proof of anything human inside and its over-all poor condition tells that the Shul has been uninhabited since the rise of the dark arts.

Like Harry and his friends, you come from a world of modern magic where things are cleverly drawn out, and designed on paper and then built by normal Working Wizards. Magic is then used to hold these things together or to repair them when needed, simply at the snap of a skilled wand.

But this is not the only balance of power that existed. Not when we are speaking in the terms of old worlds, Celtic and Egyptian magic; and we are speaking of them.

Much greater powers are possible, for example, the creation of a wand.

I, myself know, that once a wand is broken it cannot be repaired. Why? Because, it is born from magic. A life, once taken can never be returned to the way it was, can it not? Hogwarts was created this way did you know—Yes—magic lies in its structure. Within each and every grain and stone.

Now, you just remember that as our story unfolds.

* * *

There was no way to explain the Shul's ability to remain so perfectly balanced over the cliff side, other than magic must've played a part in its creation. It was filled with ancient and unusual details. Drawings from the first step to the last sand block. Each told them a separate tale of once-upon-a-time.

Halfway up, the search party passed words cut into more black stones rising up from the earth just like the one before the bridge. Kingsley and Hermione being the wisest in reading ancient runes translated the words for the others. "Pay me. The fruits of your labors." read Kingsley. "Another one of those riddles."

"Yes but it doesn't bring us any closer to finding Harry." remarked Hermione and she moved past the stone.

The one thing that Hermione found just as unusual as everyone else here—was that if the island had in fact served as a place for magic ages ago, then where had all the people gone, and, why had the temple been placed in such a dangerous location overlooking the sea below?

Once inside they found secret passages and hidden doors.

"Ve've found flats cut into ze floors and 'idden valkways that are marked with zis." said Tutty, pointing towards the chisel artwork of a dung beetle. "Dung beetles, also known in my country as a Dorbeetle. Each of zese valkways," she swung her arm up as if to point in the direction of the levels above them. The others looked up into the wide open space of the Shul's high walls, "are made of some zort of natural rope. Most likely roots and vines collected from ze jungle outside. They're strong enough for us to climb, but one at a time."

Again! Ron felt dizzy because the ceiling was so high and also because Elador was so unbelievably hot when she spoke and took control.

Molly saw her husband look at her in a questioning way.

He knew his wife. Molly was not one for heights. "You four can stay below. Myself and the others will make the climb up." he said to her.

And so they did.

Soon the group was climbing up a second connection, a narrow winding string of stairs made of more vines. It lead them out onto highest level of the temple, which was then divided into four chambers.

The rooms were dry, and there was barely enough space to stand upright, a larger chamber which was the one leering over to the left, occupied most of the area. Its floor was covered in a fine sand that sparkled back at them. "Perhaps," said Draco, while he was struggling to help an Auror and Tutty up the ladder. "We should bring the women."

"It's likely they're safer there," replied Kingsley grunting as Ron pulled him up too. "Since we don't know what's ahead of us, it's better to have two forces on both ends rather than only one."

"Would you look at this!" exclaimed Mr. Weasley "Jolly good work. Absolutely brilliant, their precision—O well done."

The crew explored as many of the rooms above as they could and soon found that they were all connected to a gable, a flat that was a way out to the rooftop. Moon light surrounded the gable and its steeples and there were battlements with pointy cone-like objects on the ends of them.

Ron, Draco and an Auror with them were the last to make it to the top. Their eyes meet hundreds of shrunken heads mounted onto black iron spears. They were not elves, but some other sort of magical animal.

"Are those stairs?" asked the Auror. (_Here, let's take a moment—To introduce Marcus Blighter, because he has spoken twice now. Blighter is not of much importance to our story, yet he plays a major role now and again, so it's only proper that I give you time to get to know him._

_He's about twenty or so, young like Elador. A slender fellow with a stern jaw and spiked gray hair. The hair is hereditary, his mother had it, and his grandmother as well. He's a bit keen with his wand and never bluffs, although his true talent shows best in alchemy and things of that nature.)_

"Wished we used those instead, my arms sure took a beating." said Marcus.

The others looked down. They hadn't notice them from before. They were positive in fact that the steps were not there on the way up, but there they were bright-as-brass, a single flight of winding steps that had not been spotted from first or second levels below, and they obviously barreled through the very heart of the place moving downward, alongside the first flight and back into the temple. Mr. Weasley stood there with his mouth open wide, yet he had no reply.

The five wizards quickly followed the steps down. Mr. Weasley had his eyes fixed on the first level below as they finally came to the last sandy step, then he walked the entire chamber from one corner to the next. "Where's Molly and the girls?" he asked.

If these were along the first flight, leading them back inside, then they should be exactly where they began.

"Hermione!" Ron called out and his echo bounced back from the walls.

"Molly!"

"Elador!"

"Cut it out you guys this is not fucking funny!" said Draco.

"Arthur I don't think this is where we started." said Kingsley.

"Don't be ridiculous of course . . . it is, innit?" Mr. Weasley paused and looked back up the long staircase leading up and out. "by golly. Bless my little . . . I think you're right."

The stairs had taken them back inside, but someplace else inside the Shul.. . .so the search restarted at the beginning once they circled back to collect the women.

* * *

They divided themselves into groups: Ron, Draco, Hermione and Marcus where assigned rooms. Molly and Authur took the lower levels, which appeared to be the most complicated because it went down into the very heart of the mountain. And last, Kingsley and Elador were given the highest level, the ones leading to the rooftop. It was the safest and the closest to the exit, allowing them a safer and faster escape should they need it.

Time passed, the night stretched on and time and time again all anyone could find were dark chambers, gold ceilings and the only natural light that came, came from the narrow cuts of glassless windows. There was also the occasional churning log floating a few inches from the ground outside a newly discovered exit which always led to the ocean, and a new black stones with words of runes. That was it and nothing more.

* * *

_Closer To Exactly Nowhere_

The moon and a pattern of stars hanging beyond scattered clouds gave a natural light.

Draco and Marcus moved closer to the sea it was instantly replaced with the inside of the Shul, starting them over from either the right beginning or the wrong one so they turned back to find Ron and Hermione. They hadn't made any advancement at all.

"Fuck we're getting closer to nothing." screamed Draco once he spotted them. His fist was clenched, his muscles tight and his entire body shook from all the frustration. He didn't care much for his father, but he hated the idea of his mother being in danger.

Then a second later Hermione had said "There! Up ahead! Follow me. Can you see it?"

But regardless of the certainty in her voice Draco still could not see anything. He followed anyway as so did Ron and Marcus, the three allowing the witch to lead them into a maze of turn abouts and corners. What did it matter where they went they were officially lost now, this place was like a labyrinth and Draco was sure every place would ultimately lead to the same place. Nowhere!

A tiny flame of light flickering like a lit torch in the darkness and immediately Hermione warned the others of what she found.

_'. . .there's something here, we're following it now. There are more chambers along the flight of stairs, like channels. But they are concealed by some sort of illusion. The floating torches are not torches; they mark their entrance. Lift the latch. . .' _her coin faded into a dull glow.

"What latch?" Mrs. Weasley read the coin's message and gave her husband a question look.

* * *

Hermione's newly found information would soon prove to be useless to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, and there could be only one possible explanation. Certain chambers could only be discovered by a virgin witch or wizard. This is not to say that wand magic could not be used to reveal them, but only that she, like Harry, held a special gift because of their innocence. Draco and Marcus soon realized this after only a few random guesses. Draco took advantage of the news and began saying things only a Slytherin would say, and Ron felt extremely exposed and slightly embarrassed with the secret out that she was still untouched by him.

Hermione entered a side chamber, it was imperfect, dirty and not squared away properly. Nearly all of it had been taken over by wild growth and crumbling bits of the earth and roots. More channels were too small to search or crawl into, like that of a fox hole with miniature-sized door.

There was a second tiny room, designed to hold an elf or some other small creature. The door had been removed, she leaned down and peered inside.


	8. Prologue Page 8

Prologue

Page 8

Three male wizards entered into the next chamber: the Auror Marcus with his wand withdrawn to provide light, the stiffness of his Auror's uniform giving him a much sterner look than the other two wizard with him; a gray-eyed and very ill-tempered Draco Malfoy, his attitude and tone had changed, he was now emitting an air of complete aggravation with searching the Shul at all; and there was Ronald, his saffron-colored hair swooshed across his sweaty brow in a free-flowing fall. He kept as far away from Draco as the hunt would allow.

Hermione. was not with them, momentarily left behind.

A full length, life-size painting upon the cave's wall greeted them. It was a picture of a knight upon a bone-thin horse. Draco and Marcus recognized the animal immediately, not as a horse, but rather a thresthal that the knight had been painted upon. The man in the portrait appeared fairly young, wearing a helmet and gloves, much of his attire connecting him to a knight-hood of some sort and his image had been very well drawn, especially his head, which was in a clear bright golden tone.

"Who is he?" Ron asked as they walked up to the painting. Hermione was appearing just after he had spoken, slowly moving in beside him, she took his hand and began to study the runes etched just below the hooves of the knight's mare. She studied the bold letters below the painting too.

"I believe it says his name is Sir Luckless." however, she was speaking with a weary uncertainity that caught Draco by surprise.

She placed her D.A.'s coin back into the pocket of her pants, and studied the markings harder, trying to discern the similarities between the Celtic and English penultima. The dull color of the thresthal gave the entire portrait a ghastly, haunting look.

The four took a few steps more into the room... next realizing that the eyes of both Sir Luckless and his steed had been painted so that they would stare at the viewer from any angle in the room. Sir Luckless appeared so life-like, it was as if he'd just reached up and flipped up the visor of his helmet only moments before they'd walked in, his eyes, intensively staring down at them.

"Wasn't much of a thinker was he?" replied Ron, his dusty brow shifted in questioning. "There's not much luck about riding a boney thing like that." he said looking-over the frail thin frame of the beast.

Marcus gave him a nonplussed expression. "It means he rides upon death." he said. "and it seems that whoever he was, a wizard, he was not." Marcus then pointed at the object perching against the knight's side. It was a sword instead of a wand.

"Could have been a squib." Hermione interjected.

"Or a damn Mudblood. Now lets keep it moving."

Draco's words were cut cold with an icy glare from Hermione and Ron stepped up and going directly for Draco. Hermione deflected a fist away from him and moved between them, Ron's other arm was raised and ready for a second punch. He had finally had enough of his attitude and would have prefer to bash Malfoy's pearly whites in, and not keep listening to his crap.

"STOP IT!" Hermione ordered.

Ron rammed his fingers into his left pocket, pulling out his wand. She snatched it from him the instant it caught her sight. She didn't want to deal with two childish idiots tossing spells at a time like this, and she was more than capable of handling Draco's smart mouth on her own.

She held Ron's wand up and pointed it directly at Draco. It was a sure warning.

"If you're going to point that thing mudblood you better use it. Not my fault your boyfriend over there looses his cool with the truth; lightens my mood a bit to know that even a Weasel still has something to be ashamed of. Maybe old snake-face died for nothing after all." Draco lifted a brow, he backed away, his last remark stung, and it left Hermione open he could tell. His reflexes were fast when he snatched the wand out of her hand.

Ron charged towards Draco again. Hermione grabbed Ron's arm to stop him, but he pushed her hand off.

Marcus's voice boomed out: "wWhat the bloody fuck is going on here?"

Draco smirked. Ron's forgetfulness of her hurt when he shoved her that hard, no matter how much she tried to hide it, the words from Draco didn't hurt nearly as much as Ron's treatment of her just had. Malfoy noticed it too as he watched the look on her face before it was quickly shuddered away like any other personal feeling within her when she was around people who knew little about her or muggles.

"I meant to say. . . that it could have been some muggle." Draco gave a short and devilish laugh, staring back at Ron in challenge. Something was wrong with the two of them and he could tell that Weasley wasn't nearly as strong in their relationship as he pretended to be.

"We're here helping you and you've got the nerve to insult her, how'd you like it if I wiped that smirk across the bloody floor with your face."

"Cut it out you two."

"Me, but that slime was the one that started it."

"Ron it doesn't matter no please—."

"Started what?" Draco added coolly

"You know bloody well what you called her."

"No—I—don't Ronnikins." Draco said in one of his nicest voices, but not so nicely. "Won't you tell me. Blimey if I didn't know any better I'd say you went off the fucking deep-end mate anytime someone tried to mark her for anything other than a pure-blood." His face twisted in anger and he looked Granger over. "Well, she's a fucking mudblood alright, a fucking little muggle-bitch and you and your crew are to blame for all this! So personally I'm getting a little sick of following her arse around like we're on one of your damn special missions. You three brought this on: Voldemort attacking the school; my mum missing! So don't go acting as if you give one trolls bittersweet nut about finding my mother. Just get your brainiac girlfriend over there to read the fucking painting so we can get the hell out of here! If that's all right with you two I mean?"

"I'm working on it Draco!" Her blood was quickly rising. Neither of them were helping. She shook her head and slipped out from between them.

Draco thought she was going to walk out and leave. But she didn't.

She understood Draco's frustration about his mother. She understood his frustration better than anyone right now. She had no way of knowing if her own parents were safe and out of danger or being caught and used against her in retaliation. "And you're wrong we do care, we wouldn't be here otherwise." She said, then she said nothing more, but swallowed down newly rising tears for her own mother's safety. She focused on the markings, "It says, here beyond these walls I shall remain, having been born not of magic, nor skills of might, or knowledge worthy of a mighty knight. I carry with me a faint heart and my worthy steed. Pity me not, for I am wealthy." she thought about it for a second.

"Squibs were not common then. But why would the image of a British knight be painted here?" Marcus asked her.

"How should I know!" she snapped sharply. Her hands were suddenly shaking.

The three wizards looked at one another.

Ron's and Draco's expression told her that they both had expected her to know the answer simply because she was muggleborn. And if she didn't know, then none of them knew. She was their closet thing connected to the world of muggles or squibs. They were not from that world, as-a-matter-of-fact, other than her and Ronald who had been there a few times, Draco and Marcus had never gone beyond their own world.

Draco replied with a husky sigh as to say he couldn't believe that she wasn't nearly as bright as she often pretended to be. Not that he was satisfied about it, because he needed her to have the answers right now.

She dropped her arms to her side and stiffened. "My last name is Granger, not heir to Luckless!" there was a definite sound of resentment in her tone. Hermione had been through as much as either of them and more than most girls her own age in the past ten months. They all had each other. Ron had his parents, Draco his, and even though she didn't want to come right out and say it, but without Harry there she felt she was alone.

* * *

When the three found no sign of Draco's mother there, they moved on further into the Shul, a new room awaited them.

A level above, Mr. Weasley read her new coin message aloud. He then stroke roughly through his thinning hairs as if he'd just seen something amazing. "Brilliant, underground chambers. . . that's a goblin's trade you know. Everything seems to have been made from natural minerals, materials. It seems that whoever lived here; lived in harmony with them."

"With whom dear?" asked his wife as she turned over a water jug. It was in mint condition and still held liquid at the bottom.

She poured the substance out.

He didn't move for a moment, he just turned his face down to look at her. It was then that he noticed the tears rolling down her cheeks. It could have been her missing and not Narcissa, the thought scared him to death."Other magical life forms, elves, goblins, perhaps even gnomes, witches and wizards all were co-existing together before the great divide."

From the windows around them the howling of the ocean and the monotonous sounds of the surf breaking on the shore could be heard clearly. The waves rolled back and forth with an almost deafening vibration into the room and he walked up to Molly and gave her a moments comfort, reassuring her they would find Narcissa soon enough.

* * *

In the lowest sector of the Shul, Harry walked past another large opening that he trusted to be a way out. Mr. Malfoy brushed past him. "We've already been through here." he said to the boy.

His body was so tired and beaten, and he needed sleep badly. But, there was no time to rest, and no time to second guess exploring this cave again either.

Harry bent to his knees and flung cool water onto his face from a narrow trickling stream he'd discovered near the entrance of another opening.

He waited not so sure if he wanted to waste time exploring another dead end either. After pausing long enough to clear his thoughts he realized that he had somehow stumbled across the original column and the same stone where he first saw the Hinkypunk. He took the left passage. The one the creature had come from rather than the one it vanished into. But the further he went in, the smaller the tunnel grew. For a long time the tunnel sloped downward and Harry was almost certain that somehow he had entered the wrong one again.

It turned sharply to the right just like before. This he remembered and the oddly smooth rocks on the left side as if something may have rubbing their body against it on their way in and out.

Harry ended up crawling forward on hands and knees to make it through and stuck his head out of an opening.

Here the tunnel simply split into two. The salty sea air filled in around him and could be felt coming from a larger opening. A second one continued on with more smooth rocks obvisously made by the hinkypunk or something else. He jerked his head around, he could hear and see Mr. Malfoy coming up behind him swearing and cursing every inch of the way.

Harry knew that Narcissa was not small enough to pass through the other one, so he chose the more obvious way. He followed the left branch that began to wound back and forth through, changing colorful strata of rock, until it ended in another rounded chamber.

Ahead he saw a blue light, and on the ground, just a few feet away, the shimmer of a golden necklace.

The white mist was appearing just as before. The sound of Narcissa came with it. Harry didn't want to admit it but he had a feeling that this hinkypunk was somehow connecting them to her. And that the piece laying on the ground at his feet was not a good sign.

"Where are you?" Harry cried out for her.

The woman's voice continued to weep.

The hinkypunk waited patiently for him to follow.

* * *

As Harry left the cave he saw that the moon had died, the dark blues lines from the night lifted it seems hours ago, and the sun was straight ahead. There was no use trying to gaze into its orange glow, it had grown far too bright. Mr. Malfoy's voice was calling for Harry; shouting orders for him to answer or either turn around and come back. _How could they have not seen the sunrise?_ Thought Harry. The warmth of the rays tell him that its beyond daybreak and its clear to them that the time to call the search to an end had passed hours ago. But he knew this would never happen with her still out there. Lucius wouldn't allow it, so Harry kept silent for now. He answered Lucius, shouting back into the cave.

Harry couldn't bear the thought of another person dying for his cause, not one, nor did he want to carry the burden of being the reason for Narcissa's death. The kidnapping was an act of retaliation and he felt that _he_ was the motive for it.

A massive black stone, began twisting around in the ocean's current. It was smooth and oddly shaped, standing upright upon the waters of the sea. Only this time it was as if it had been waiting for him. Markings were chiseled into its surface, already here's a new obstacle. The sun has settled just behind the rising stone and Harry is having trouble reading what it says.

The tide is rushing in now, splashing ashore against the stone's base as it moves it, turning it slowly. Harry could not only hear the sound of the waves now he could feel the misty touch of the ocean as it kissed his face. The mesmerizing movement of the water seemed unbelievable to him as the blue flames belonging to the hinkypunk traveled out to the black stone, and the into the sea. He listened, hearing the rough waters of the ocean crashing against the rock. He could see that the ocean was no longer steady or still as it had been before. This one held life in it, this one held breeze, it held the roaring sound of the surging tide against the shoreline below—crashing—foaming against the sands, and he could see it clearly.

Mr. Malfoy found him standing closer to the edge of the cliff, and he also saw that nothing happened the closer the boy moved down the hillside.

Harry watched as the hinkypunk's light disappeared into the waters. The two wizards stood side-by-side watching it all take place. Mr. Malfoy in comparison to Harry's dark hair and youthful boy-like features seemed raw with an untold edge. He stood a full six feet tall—a pure blood—bright blonde hair and broad shoulders.

Harry swept a glance at the man beside him. Mr. Malfoy' own were fixed onto the rapid roaming of the blue hue light deep within the sea.

* * *

Stop. Let's leave now, you don't want to know what happens next . . . you don't want to see what is coming from those waters.

No, alright then let's stay . . . no more brooding! No more going in circles, instead look outward as Mr. Malfoy races down the path now. His eyes, they seem as set as cold steel, staring down under finely groomed equally solid white brows. One of them lifted in a curve that suggested a question—his mouth open wide and his entire body froze.

That was when he saw her. With the waves of the sea rattling like a fluid beast against the shoreline below. Seashells reflecting against beaming light rays coming from the sun above. Sea salty air rushing past, brushing the tips of his blonde hair aside.

It's the most unnerving thing to witness. This scene unfolding, to witness the dissolve of Lucius—an image of superior perfection; his sudden loss of strength, shredded. His keen intelligence to proceed with caution, instantly thrown into the winds, his cloak as black as midnight, contrasting greatly against the shock of icy white hair sweeping back from his forehead. He runs so fast he nearly falls. His mane had become wild, loose and free as he rushed down the dangerous slope towards her.

Harry saw the light, pushing her up from the sea, he too ran behind, racing down the rocky path. Huge leaves and wild grass sprouting forth catching Malfoy's ankle as he pushed pass them. The wind tugged at his long blonde hair, ripping it loose from the leather tie that held it together freed itself and sailed away.

Harry began to slow his speed . . . .The hill was changing right before his eyes, a narrow stream appeared from out of the mountain opening, pushing downward into the sea, but it waters were moving backwards from the ocean, into the Shul. Hedge stones appeared covering the trail on which they ran.

Flowers are suddenly everywhere, blooming around the tombstones baring names. The scent of them sweet as sugary sweet, rare as lavender and more beautiful than any of its kind he ever seen. The waves roared like thunder now, but the blue fire kept pulling her precious body up from its watery grave.

On this morning the air would be filled with perpetual wails and cries from those who knew and loved her. Narcissa Malfoy, at last he has found her.

"—Nooo!" Lucius lost his breath as the tide brought her in, and he saw her lying there. "No—she is not dead! She can't be!" He raced down the hill of flat stones, sliding towards her slumped body. Stumbling, falling and then finally, he flung himself down onto the wet sands beside his wife. His hands were shaking badly as he reached down, and withdrew the bloody blade that had been left inside of her.

This could happen to anyone else, but never to him, never to his family.

Harry runs towards them and instantly he spots the blade: long and silver, embedded with crimson colored rubies—the fake copy of the Gryffindor's sword. He knew it the moment he set his eyes on it and felt the sickness rising in his chest, filling it and he vomited. It was some sick joke, he knew it was not the true sword because the true sword of Gryffindor had been used to slay the snake Nagini and later safely locked away back in the Headmaster's office. This one was not the true sword, but it was used to deliver a message.

"Dearest of the Gods," Mr. Malfoy cried gathering his wife limp body closer to his arms and away from the tide. "Oh… oh my dear. . .HELP. . . HELP ME!" He screams, screaming past the boy standing right in front of him. "SOMEONE PLEASE HELP US!"

He sank deeper beside her, pulling at her lifeless arms, drawing them closer, screaming, shouting with all his strength for the others to come, to hurry! He'd had found her, he found her at last. He held her up by the neck, lifting her slightly from the wetness of the sandy shore and lowered his lips to hers, certain she was still alive. Telling her, it would be ok, that help was coming.

Despite the crashing of the ocean waves behind him, drowning out his voice, they all heard his screams and began running quickly through the Shul.

Molly appeared first out of the exit, followed by her husband. They both were out of breath, gripping their chest as they inhaled deeper. Molly turned her eyes away in tears, unable and unwilling to look at the scene below.

Hermione was only seconds behind them. But once there, she gasp, and her sight fell onto black stone.

Looking closely she saw it was not a stone like the others. An oval bowl began to emerge from beneath the waters with it and it was attached to the stone's bodice. At first she couldn't make it out. But it was clearly a fountain lying just beyond the waterline, surrounded by the depths of the sea. Next her attention was drawn to Mr. Malfoy on the ground, holding his wife.

Clumps of sand had gathered in her blonde hair. It was muddy, limp and with cold strings of seaweed collected around her beautifully manicured fingers, covering her wedding band. Wet blood was still leaking from her wounds, painting the ground with crimson red where she lay, where her husband held her.

A blue light shot out of the waters illuminating the markings of the black stone as it passes. "Pay me the treasure of your past." Hermione read the words slowly and at last she understood just where their search had taken them, and that this was no ordinary island. Written in ancient runes like so many clues before it. Hermione covered her eyes from the sun. She collapsed to her knees, just staring at the fountain. She didn't understand, and she didn't want to understand, didn't want to accept tonight, any of it, not the pain, not the war, or the deaths of all their friends! What good did it do to honor their victory when so much had been destroyed for it?

Narcissa's eyes were shut. Her pretty face had gone pale under her long fling of her soft silvery blonde hair.

Harry watched Lucius run his fingers through her shiny strands.

Draco raced to his father's side. How is it possible? She couldn't. . . .his heart refused to accept it.

The others all moved in. Ron took Hermione's hand pulling her up from her knees and together the three of them bared witness to a morning that would remain in their memories forever.


	9. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

"Smashed"

For the Smaller Powers that Endure

* * *

That was a rather sad beginning to our story, and I do apologize dearly for having you take part in such a dreadful event. But, you did insist on staying and so here we are, not nearly an hour past noon and the madness has only just begun.

I should warn you that The Daily Prophet has already began to run. Most likely, stories are being pushed out at this very moment; it's possible that many were being owled well before the break of day. And now the hunt for survivors willing to elaborate the details of the night-for the moment, are marked as extremely valuable, and you can rest a sure that The Daily Prophet will pay the price to print their stories in the days to follow.

Members belonging to the Ministry of Magic will not be interested in lost diadems; nor will they care about repressed tales of love; renegade house elves; or self-made heroes.

But the readers. . .well now, the readers will flood the shops for miles. Owls will tucker out from new deliveries being requested.

The world deserves to know the truth. The truth could never be denied. The truth that the wizarding world would forever be in debt to the greatness of Harry Potter and that Voldemort was indeed no more.

However, no one could have imagined the amount of damage and devastation left behind.

Could it have been avoided if left to the law and the enforcers of Magical-laws? If given time, could the outcome of things have made a turned for the better?

Some will say perhaps, others will not be so sure.

But what is done is done. Another version can never be given now, and there shall be many more things that cannot be given. Such as, the return of lost lives, or answers to those wanting to know why the corridors are filled not just with the half eaten carcasses of little girls left behind by werewolves, but why is there a scent of flesh and bitter death carrying its most unpleasant odor all the way to the very front doors of Hogsmead's valley below.

* * *

Ron squeezes down on Hermione's hand as together they push through the crowd.

Shouts and blinding flashes start to burn and burst around them. Harry is pushing on as well. His body is still aching from his fight with Voldemort and he struggles to ignore the accusation coming from a man with dark skin, whose head is beneath the cover-cloth of his camera.

Harry knows that the man's only purpose for saying the things he saying is to get a rise out of him.

The photographer's head disappears behind a three-legged tripod, as his question, so rude and inappriopately directed sails into the air; and his camera shutters into random clicks.

_"Harry Potter can you tell us what has happen to Hogwarts?"_ shouted another fellow as he aims a clear bulb right in front of them while they walked, shining it with a bright light and he presses a button, intensifying the moment.

_"Harry Potter tell us what happened?" _shouts a taller woman slightly to the right. Her assistant runs in circles collecting different angles for a better shot. **POOF! POOF! POOF!** goes his camera.

A circus of reporters attempting to swallow them whole rush in, pulling them further up the path with a dozen different hammering questions, following them every step of the way as the search party tries to force their way through the unpleasantness of the crowd.

More flashes flicker about, coming from every direction.

Marcus and Arthur are busy aiding Lucius just ahead.

He no longer seems fit to bear his own weight anymore, yet they urge him on as he carries her blood-soaked body in the hooks of his arms. He knows now that she is dead. Sick at heart and with the crowd around him. Lucius is wide-eyed and null to everything.

There's a small break in the crowd, he carries her through and says nothing. It is as if reality has shifted and deformed itself around him leading him deeper, into the edge of something unknown.

A scene of insanity.

Nothing could be said to ease the crowds thirst for answers or just a statement.

Even with the Order's greatest efforts to speak; not a word will be interpreted correctly, any remark given will be taken, twisted and then projected back against them, demanding even more confidential information: more accuracy on times, locations and names to exploit, and not only that, but for any one-answer given half a dozen more will spring into the air.

Protestors are coming from the rear and they begin shouting foul words against newer reporters who have a stronger drive to be the first to deliver, with their hunger for details madness unfolds.

Those arriving late, rushed in. . . .

More Aurors appear and form a wall at the gate, demanding for all to stand clear. But, the warning has little effect. A spell is cast to keep the paparazzi at bay. Those that have been waiting for their arrival will not obey, and demolish the protective spell, counteracting against the magic. They all want the same precious thing: Glory. A once in a lifetime piece of fame, a chance to tell the world their version of a history as it is happening.

_"Could you give us just a minute Mr. Potter?_

_" . . .MR. POTTER!"_

_"Mr. Malfoy can you tell us what has happened to your wife?"_

_"Can you let the people know what will be the Order's next plan of action?"_

_"Why have you three returned, do you plan to reenlist as students or protectors for your school?"_

_"Where's his body, Where's You-Know-Who's body?_

_". . .Did you burn it ?"_

_"Harry Potter, can you tell us what has happen to the Hogwart's Stone bridge!"_

An uncountable amount of shutters released filling the air—**POOF! POOF! POOF!**

_"And the trees, sir! What happen to the trees?"_

**POOF!**

**POOF!**

**POOF!**

Multiple cameras flash across their faces.

Molly pulls on her husband's arm as a group threatens to pull her away.

"Out of the way!" shouted Mr. Weasley as he fought his way through, making a wider opening for Lucius, Narcissa and his wife. They pushed on against the hungry crowd. A dark sea of multi-colored cloaks, writers, publishers, journalist all jammering and jerking with great force and greed.

"DID YE 'EAR WHAT 'E SAID!" Hagrid roared, his gigantic size coming through the black gates. "Fer the love of the Gods let 'em pass yer worthless bunch of oafs! OUT OF THE WAY, I SAY!"

But not even Hagrid in his great size couldn't disperse the maddness. A raging river of nobodies, nobodies trying to become somebody, and threatening to drag those into the grounds of hell should they dare oppose them, should they dare deny them their moment, their glory!

* * *

It's a pity really the way things can turn from bad to completely unimaginable.

Aaah, and as for those splendid pines the ones a photographer was speaking of, those glorious pines and magnificent oaks that once stood ever so great and every so powerful upon the schools grounds. I am sad to say, they were destroyed, broken, tossed about, pulverized, smashed, if you will.

Nothing was more magical, more wonderful or more singular than those enormous specimens that had been growing for hundreds and hundreds of years.

Are you struggling as the crowd shoves you along, drawing you closer to the iron gates, closer to Hagrid.

Hogwarts emerges. . .you look and see for yourself the change. Look upon it with your very own eyes. . . .it is the remains of a battlefield…the sight could bring tears to your eyes.

Have you ever been to a photographer's studio and stood next to him in his dark room while he worked out the magic of his hard labor? His pictures begin on a single slip of white sticky parchment, slippery from their bath, dripping their stinky little droplets into a solution filled pan below.

They hang there like soggy ruined bits of nothingness, waiting patiently, drying, and before long the scenery comes to life before his very eyes, moving frame-shot-by-frame-shot.

POOF! POOF! POOF! Like the beginning of a slow-moving film until it begins to capture the life he wanted. Now its crisp and dry, now the horrific scene of those beautiful trees torn out by the base of their roots and thrown about like play sticks can be seen by all the world. A remarkable unbelievable, will be held forever. Ready to beprocessed and later, more will be developed and heading directly for the pressman's line.

* * *

On the third day after, came the conference that the world had waited for. A speech, an explanation, for those weeping for an answer. Why, why would anyone subject innocent children to such an ungodly war, a war that was well beyond their means to fight; who made such a call?

His response was just words, but words spoken by the right person, aimed for the right intentions, hoping for the best. A worthy impossible possibility. Spoken by anyone other than Harry Potter, they would have been just words. . . . Frivolous, no doubt questionable; not worth an old man's tattered boot and surely not worthy of forgiveness.

"THEIR MEMORIES WILL LIVE ON," Harry shouts above the rising sea of angry voices "HOGWARTS WILL SURVIVE!"

It was a rather nasty hearing being held in the Wizengamot court room on a Tuesday morning.

Its purpose was to be an act of saying we are not done yet; that this is not over! It was an invitation for those who had survived so much, to stand up and become a part of something greater than the loss they all shared. But in the end, it turned into political chaos. For what had first seemed to be a flaw of security in a working Ministry, now however, uncovered suspension and blame that exploded from the mouths of many. No one would end their arguing and frantic bickering long enough for the healing to begin.

The rise of Voldemort was in short due to the weakness of the Ministry, the loss of innocent lives would not go unpaid for, this was more than a flaw in Magical security. It was outright failure on such a grand scale that it could not be measured, and not one among them felt he or she should accept the downfall totally alone.

Harry went half crazed with aimless meetings, pointless hearings, day after day.

Arrangements that lead his hopes down a dead-end road and into more propagandistic interviews, where the papers did little more than slander the name of the Hogwart's professor, and Ministry officials in light of glorifying Harry as a overburden, pressured individualist.

With all his hopes exhausted, he grew weary. He had to accept that it was useless trying at this madness; so he let the powers that be, butcher away at one another. He'd never been able to stop The Daily Prophet from printing rubbish before, why should now be any different? He needed peace. There were more important things to tend too. The need to return and rebuild their school, their lives, was something that simply had to be done. Damn the rest!

The way he saw it, the law-makers and the liars that made the laws simply didn't want to admit their loss of control and power.

They simply didn't want to admit that Voldemort had not only gained an extreme amount of control through the Disloyal's found throughout their government, but that he, one wizard, held a dominating grip over many—even the most trusted of their Ministry could be held accountable for at least one-act of betrayal if not another.

Many secretly concealing those they knew had worked in Death Eater's favor from the very beginning of their careers. How could they confess this too millions; how could they confess that he held the might and the power to skillfully manipulate his new way of life so easily and without ever being stopped, or brought to justice.

What would the world say?

Who among them could be trusted?

And what would their voters do?

* * *

**"MAGICAL SOCIETY LEFT IN RUINS! WHO'S TO BLAME?"**

The Unrighteous Ones

It printed in less than a week, and cast the blame against those who fought and gave their lives freely, as well as those found guilty of disloyalty within the Minister's system.

It made the headlines and became the truth for the public. But those that survived the nightmare, told a different story, the Ministry's version of what actually happen may as well have been printed out with dung for ink.

There were several chosen editors, privately selected to produce and publish a true article in the days to follow. Rita Skeeter, of course was the first chosen, and she was paid handsomely. Then came a new editor, an Irishmen by the name of Phillip Woods, who brought his tactful form of writing to the world. He was a loud man and an overly proud pureblood, one who coined the phrase for himself, _**"Beware of the Woodsman's ax." **_His choice of colorful words vicious and provoking.

But there was one writer that stood out among any other's. One, in particular that satisfied the reader's hunger for a true inside informant. One, that could not be paid off by the Ministry's officials and their gold. One editor, with the heart to gather the facts no matter the stakes, and clever enough to use the Quibbler as an alternate way of getting his word to the people free of charge. This one, unlike his competitors; resigned from all invitations to wealthy gatherings. In fact, he hated tea parties. He renounced the glorified fame that came from blowing the whistle on the cold hard truth. Some say he is a liar; to others, a genius! He was unlike the fortune-seeking RitaSkeeter, nor was he biased, like the well-spoken and well paid Irishmen, Phillip Woods.

He did not favor any one person or organization over the next; he distributed their faults equally among them all. This unknown writer that became so vastly irritated with tactful questions aimed to unravel his identity was most unusual. This editor actually wanted to remain reclusive to his anonymity. Not one photographer could ever turn out a single photograph of him, and it wasn't from their lack of trying.

Who was this man who knew so much? The one, that unveiled and turned the dirty hats on their highest witches and wizards of exceptional greatness; smiting those who contradicted their years of service with hidden lies. Who was he that called out the once secret members belonging to the Order of Phoenix and even those of the newly-formed Dumbledore's Army.

(He writes. . .)

"These two organization although very noble in their deeds

to protect magical and muggle-kind alike, are unlicensed and

unregistered organizations before the eyes of M.O.M. They are

unlawful, and rebellious often breeching specific rules of

safety, and security strongly enforced under Book of Magical

Authority. . . . .

* * *

A light shower, thin as it dwindles and falls against the windows of the common room. The summer months are nearly gone and still the castle reveals signs of a battle that will not be forgotten for a long time to come. Ron cranes his head back into Hermione's lap and opens his eyes to look at her reading. Her chestnut brown hair wasn't falling over her face like any ordinary day, it was pulled back and braided allowing the softness of her lips to appear more visible as she was speaking.

She wasn't speaking to him, not directly at least. She knew that holding a conversation with Ron on certain matters would be a lot like holding a conversation with someone wearing a pair of clad earphones.

She was wearing summer shorts and a tee, He turned his head and nose, they were inches from the most sacred part of her

"It is phenomenal, the corruption flowing from within is more abroad, and deeper than any of us could have imagined." she says aloud. She allowed him to lay there for a moment, thinking to herself that soon he would get up and forget about her. Until from lack of anything better to do he stuck his tongue out and absentmindedly creeped the slick wetness of his tongue just a hair closer.

Harry was sitting very still and pretending to be asleep by the window. He heard Hermione say something ugly to something Ron had done, but he said nothing. He then heard Ron apologize, leave, then return again.

Ron stretched out on his back, hoping to catch a breeze.

Hermione continued to read The Quibbler. But frustration was coursing through her now like liquid anger being pumped along with the sweltering heat of the summer. She understood he was simply being playful, but they were in the middle of day and in the open exposure of the common room. "Everyone blames someone, and then that someone points the fault onto another. How do they intend to come to a compromise?" She said and read a passage from page four. "In the passing days to follow, the Ministry now renders The Order, The D.A. and any party belonging to Death Eaters as an unrecognizable organizations beneath Chapter IV, and punishable by law—What bologna! Not, that it matters much; now that Voldemort's gone."

"Put it away Hermione. You know it's always the same thing." said Harry. He slumped down further into his chair. The rain was still falling gently outside.

"You really don't look well you know." Hermione said peering across the room at her friend. "You should go down to the Hall for a bite."

"I'm fine, just haven't been sleeping well." he said. And it was the truth, he's been having nightmares, visions of the evacuation portal, images of he, himself being trapped inside with miles of high flames and then Voldemort, always Voldemort.

"Harry, listen to this. Kingsley Shacklebolt has been elected to stay and govern as the active Minister of Magic, and as a new season returns to Hogwarts, The school remains in a battle of legal push-and-pull. Many are wondering what shall be his take on Hogwart's reopening."


	10. RIta Skeeter Brings To You

—**_RITA SKEETER BRINGS-THE RETURN OF LUDO BAGMAN_**—

_Coming next week we'll be taking a closer look to the_

_changes taking place behind the desk of our Ministry_

_official, but today I Rita Skeeter bring you the inside_

_details centering around this seasons upcoming stars_

_in Quidditch Foreign Exchanges, I have with me to-_

_day a man whose keen on gambling the stakes,_

_Ludovic Bagman, __Ministry official and Head of Magical _

_Games and Sports._

_Mr. Bagman, were all dying to hear the details on this seasons_

_line up, but first rumor has it that you're one of the private_

_endorsers supporting the distribution of the novel written_

_by the most recently and every famous **Anonymous**._

_Could you give us some in site on the book? Is it true_

_that you're a supporter of the writer's work; if so why;_

_what drove you to invest in such a risky endeavor and_

_what do you think the publics reaction will be in the_

_months to follow?"_

"Its release has gain a great deal of attention

and speculation. I for one welcome the truth,

of whoever he is, if the truth is indeed just that.

As you well know, I myself was wrongly

accused of infiltrating Ministry information to

You-Know-Who, yes...yes... I know he's gone

but one can't be too careful. I for one have

nothing to hide. In all honesty, I feel the book is a

precious item delivered far too late." said a

Mr. Bagman as he enlightens me with

his opinion on the release of the new book.

_"The internal information published within this book,_

_the over-all knowledge revealed by this particular_

_author, was very detailed."_

"Yes, oh yes...very true, very true indeed.

He has connections that far exceeds my own and

I've worked under the Ministry for years. His ability

to obtain so much is astoundingly curious.

_I gave a rather pleasant smile. "You are referring to the _

_years prior to your recent sabbatical. The one where you_

_evaded the required payment to the goblins"_

"Er..Yes."

_"How did that go by the way?"_

"Well...it er...it went...what was the question again?"

_"__Don't worry well get back to that later. The Writer_

_...Ghost writer... some call him, Mr. Anonymous,_

_the Fly on the Minister's Wall. He says what no other_

_living soul would dare say about the overall history_

_of the people's Ministry and of people you've work_

_with for years I might add. How does that make you feel?"_

"I will say this...that this particular writer, stresses and

makes it painfully clear that this is a change well over

due, and that a new era of a mandamus prohibition

must begin if we are to heal our world and avoid anything

like this from ever happening to our children of tomorrow."

_"Mandamus prohibition? What do you mean a _

_new era of mandamus prohibition."_

"Take the disaster of Hogwarts for example,

to keep the school in operation is not worth the tears,

it is not worth the sadness or the cost it will take

to rebuild it. To reopen those doors will be

an abomination to the memories of those lost!"

_I asked Mr. Bagman "So in your own words, are you _

_saying that you oppose __the reopening of your own home school? _

_You agree __with many of the negative allegation he's stated_

_against our Ministry, against Hogwarts officials and_

_against you?" _

"Well I don't want to say too much it's all in the book,

and copies are free to the public disposal.

But it is only a school after all, I am only one member.

Perhaps we need a change!" replied Ludo.

"Hogwarts is an educational institution, supported by the

Ministry of Magic, Special Founders of the Warlocks, and diplomats

belonging to Merlin's First Class, so on and so on you

get my meaning. But Hogwarts has forgotten it general

purpose! It was designed for the use of magical training,

training that fell within compliance of Magical Law!

There are other schools abroad, safer ones! Schools

that do not tinker along the borderlines of encouraging

students to engage with the skills of dark arts or with

the foolish ideas of battling evilness that is simply

beyond their means to deal with. A Schools of magic should

not be promoting, or housing students that seem to continuously

endanger The Magical Law of Secrecy, and a school most certainly

should not supply our world with the creation of dark-wizards; such as

**(cough)**

and...well You-Know-Who-i mean and those

who chose to follow him. All of which I am sad to say

my dear, were once former students of our beloved

Hogwarts! I believe our children of tomorrow demand

of you and of myself, to correct the errors of our

unfortunate past. Our world can no longer afford

the reckless nature of a school clearly marked, most

dangerous."

_And I'll take my leave on that. There you have_

_it my little rabbit-readers, directly from a Ministry Official _

_and supporter __of the new book, __**The Horrific Tales of Hogwarts, A Horrible.**_

_There's no doubt that whoever this mysterious writer maybe, he_

_has quilled a smashing piece, likely to exceed my very own. Only_

_time will tell._


	11. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Under the Trace

Draco awoke to a strange sound coming from the next room. In fact, the entire house seemed strange to him, including this chair. He dropped down into the dusty folds of it hours ago. He wasn't sure how long he'd been asleep but he awoke feeling extremely knackered after waiting up half the night.

He vaguely remember the room as he scanned it through groggy eyes, it smelled of mildew and stale air. Slowly it all came back to him like a bad dream, and suddenly he found himself wanting to forget again. He couldn't believe what his father asked of him anymore than he could understand why the old man wanted to attempt something so dangerous. Draco had done a lot of really crazy things in his time, but he had never been a swindler.

Sure at school he'd been a dipper a time or two, taking a few raw ingredients from classes. But everyone did that. But he never committed massive robbery, never the kind that gave him a one way ticket into Azkaban, that was where he drew the line.

He thought his old man was getting better. boy, was he wrong.

He had felt humiliated by the description Rita Skeeter had printed of his father in the Monday's run of the paper only a month after his mother's burial. His father had been stopped, found rummaging through Mr. Borgin's trash bin outside of his shop like some common street mumper. Draco wanted very much to stay at the school with his friends, spend time with Pansy and help with getting their dorm rooms and common room back in order, but he had other matters to deal with.

"Dad?" Draco called out after he heard a strange scratching. A wide stair case was spread out in front of him, forking out towards the rooms upstairs. A single wide widow sat at the fork, no light coming through it and Draco could see streaks where someone at one time or another attempted to clean the glass.

When no one answered back, so he kept sitting there. The chair beneath him was old and time worn. He had been waiting for some time on his father's return.

Word was out that Lucius was probably up to his old ways again. Kingsley and the others at the ministry reassured Draco that his father simply needed some short-term therapy to deal with the depression of losing Narcissa. So, Draco selected one of their homes in London and brought in around-the-clock help to deal with every need his father could have. But, he soon found it wiser to use hired help rather house-elves, since his father kept setting them free to terrorize them into disobeying his son's orders rather than his own.

Even with the new help, Draco had to face it, that his father had either lost his plot completely or that the therapy was making him worse rather than better. His Healer had told Draco that his father wanted to rebuild his life. Now, it seems that was a lie.

Draco rested his head back and closed his eyes, breathing in deeply. Full swirling particles of dirt lifted to the air as he shifted in the chair, causing him to sneeze.

The conversation he had with his father's Healer came drifting back into his mind as he recovered from his sneeze.

"_His emotions are very evident Mr. Malfoy. He seems very aware of his frustrations, angers and shames about the decisions of his life, but he's a bit aggro when he talks. In a sort of pressured non-stop manner. At our last session he mention his father, who died when Lucius was the age of ten. I saw a look of intense pain on his face when he spoke of his father dying. Are you familiar with your grandfather at all Draco?"_

_Draco shook his head. He had never been told anything about his grandparents, at least not from his father's side. He knew his mother's family a little more as a child growing up, but he had no idea how could all this madness be coming from something that happen when the old man was ten._

"_My practice does allow me to extract memories from my patient in an effort to better understand and help them reveal details about their past in which they would otherwise hide away, conceal." She held up a tiny glass vial with silver streams swirling about inside. "I was going to pursue deeper into your father, perhaps move up a few years, but I didn't have to. He expressed it for me. It seems he carries the blames for his father's death."_

_Draco nodded and held his head in his hand. He could understand that. Lately, there have been nights that he, himself went a bit off the deep end and began blaming himself for his own mother's murder. . . . if he had been a better son, gotten into trouble l__ess; listened to his mother more. There was a time when she wanted to leave his father, take Draco_ _with her, but he was a brat and refused to go. He idolized his father so much as a boy._

_But Draco didn't understand that his father's condition ran much deeper._

"_And," Draco asked the older woman. "what did you find?"_

"_Once I made the connection in his father's death and in your mother's recent passing, I knew at that point I had a decision to make." she said._

"_What decision, what are you going on about? You said therapy and talking his life out would help, you promised me that all these sessions would be the best thing for my father. . .now you're saying what. . .what exactly are you saying?"_

_Draco, tried to remain calm, but it was hard._

_"Are you aware that after your grandfather died, your grandmother refused to accept his death? She drove herself insane with loneliness for his return, and punished her son, many times starving him, faulting him for being the reason of her husband's accident. Your father was simply a boy that had been at the wrong place at the wrong time, but it made little difference to his mother. _—_I said I noticed how sad he looked and thought that he missed his father very much. Thinking that the recent death of Narcissa forced him into some state of regression. After I retrieve this memory, your father broke down crying, covering his face. The rest of our sessions following that day I devoted to him remembering details about his life with you instead."_

_Draco closed his eyes in cold exhaustion and thought, he wished she'd just get to the point, simple, honest language, was his old man going to have to be committed to St. Mungos or not._

"_He lived with his dead father several months after his death Mr. Malfoy."_

_Draco's eyes sprung open, he looked at her directly. Had she worded that correctly? "What?"_

"_He—lived—with—his—deceased—father, for nearly half a year after his recorded death and burial. Your father's memory shows that his mother, retrieved the body, performed one of the darkest rituals I've ever known and returned her husband from the dead. Her son, your father took part in his return."_

* * *

Draco hands shook from anxiety as he scooted to the edge of the chair and away from the center. He didn't want to think about the conversation with the Healer anymore, he wanted to find his father, but he had no idea of where to look for the old man, and he honestly had no idea where his father had taken them.

"What do I do now?" he whispered to himself and tried not to sneeze again. His head hurt, he closed his eyes momentarily and took several long deep breaths.

The Healer returned, the conversation return. . . even though he wanted to think of something else he simply could not.

He got up and walked over to a window, the glass was stained, a thin layer of dust, concealed him from the outside. He could barely make out the forest ahead.

There was an old shack just to the left of the walkway leading up to the front gate, a pile of firewood thrown against the shack told Draco that it had been there for a very long time.

. . . . ._your father took part in his return. . . .it is the most dangerous and extremely darkest form of magic and if not done properly and with great care it could be disastrous. __The deceased will return but the body and mind will continue to slowly deteriorate. Your grandfather, Nathaniel Malfoy turned on his wife, he couldn't forgive her for bringing him back to his son in such a way. One night in a rage, he killed her as his mind began to worsen to a point he could no longer bare. He then took his own life a second time, leaving Lucius behind a very disturbed little boy and an orphan without a mother, or a father. . . ."_

It was the dead of summer and the house was growing hotter by the minute. A man appeared among the trees just ahead. He was covered from head-to-toe in a long gray cloak and the moment he appeared all the birds that had been roosting in the trees flew up into the air.

Draco watched as he moved past the row of birch trees one by one. He knew it was his father returning from wherever he had gone. He tried to think, but his sight fell next on the ruggedness of the picket fence surrounding the old house. This must have been the house where it all happened, this must have been his father's home as a boy.

Why would he want to come back here, what was he searching for?

"_. . .Draco, you wouldn't know if your father took part in the return of You-Know-Who, would you?" The Healer looked him straight in the eyes. Draco wasn't stupid, he knew this was a trap, in fact he was sure that his next words were being carefully recorded by a quick quotes quill or some other recording device._

"_His name was Voldemort, and no I wouldn't know. My father is a very confidential man. You think he would have his son take part in something like that if it ended the way it did with his parents?"_

"_No, I don't believe he would." She seemed satisfied with his answer and Draco could instantly feel the tension leave the space between them. "He loves you dearly you __know. . .but your father was highly guarded by Death eaters for a reason, and that sort of spell can not be easily obtained by any wizard of a normal means. Not even the Minister would have access to such a spell. Do you understand Draco?"_

_Draco said nothing, he simply nodded yes._

_"Your father is no normal wizard, he is a superior warlock due to unfortunate circumstances, and it is my suspicion that your father holds a secret that was passed on to him by his mother. I believe he knows where a second copy of that spell lies. . . ."_

* * *

_ The Ghost Writer_

The historical downfall happened it seemed at the flick of a quill and with the publishing of one seriously aggressive and demeaning novel: _**The Horrific Tales of Hogwarts, A Horrible.**_

A one-time best seller, there was little hope after its release and the author signed it: _ANONYMOUSLY_.

For each copy distributed, A private investor picked up the tab, making the book free for the taking, thousands were given away free of charge, the book became the largest controversial piece of published work and its unknown author struck hard; his book became a voice. He spoke not only against a failing magical institution, but against a magical government to weak to protect their secret existence any longer.

* * *

Fall was arriving at last. The corridors and entrances leading to the dungeons had been cleared away mostly over the summer holiday. However, the Northern Towers and the school's stone bridge had been completely demolished.

Students between the ages of fifteen and seventeen were granted permission back into the school for cleaning purposes if they wished to help. The ones that remained loyal to their school and to their houses, chose to spend their summer at Hogwarts, but only after a parental arrangement and written permission could they be allowed to do so.

Percy was beginning to behave a little unlike himself once he discovered he had the power to make others do whatever he demanded of them. On many occasions he acted more like a one man department, and most that worked under him although may not have approved of his hard-core tactics began to appreciate, or at least respect his ability to get things done quickly.

The Daily Prophet went as for as to say that he was one of a kind. It was his internal-connections that granted, The Students Rights Package, and those willing took advantage every second, every hour of every day other than Saturday and Sundays, putting forth their best to return the school to some form of normal function. Rebuilding became their form of therapy for the most part.

Harry knew that Kingsley had meant well appointing Percy to oversee the affairs of their school, but that didn't stop him from wishing they'd seen more of their new Minister supporting their cause. Because as summer progressed into the Fall Opening Day, the public began to reframe their opinions about the reputation and the history of the school. The school had become a landmark for fatalities and unexplained freak accidents. People became leery of the school, criticizing it for reopening so soon. It has held a history of more negative reports than any other wizarding schools ever created, and not only that but a closer look was being given to the Four Houses.

No other school of magic held such obvious walls of segregation between young inspiring wizards and witches, and this divide often carried over into adulthood. No other institution intentionally forced the division of siblings due to house names. Magical London began to realize that they were in fact perilously close to losing perhaps another young generations if something wasn't done to turn things around.

The Ministry convinced Percy that if they held any hope of saving the school from the public's downcast, then Hogwarts would have to submit to the same decree's given to all Magical Institutions and not repeat the path that originally lead them into their present destruction. There simply wasn't enough trust left in the school's safety, and with Percy being newly appointed over the Magical Educations Department he simply didn't want to take the risk or chance endangering new students in an institution that insisted on enrollment status due to heritage rather than ability.

The new school year began. Classes had been reduced too only the minimum requirements needed for those choosing to complete their studies and until new changes could be passed by the Wizengamot, new enrollments would be placed on hold and transferred to an alternate school. Staff members that were no longer required for subjects lower than the sixth year level, had been involuntarily terminated until further notice. And if they choose to stay and volunteer after their official termination, it would be without pay and of their own free will. Any student needing to retake classes due to failure, OWLs and NEWTs would not be accepted or seen as creditable for completion at this time.

On July 31st, a new Order was born beneath the Ministry to replace a shortage of Aurors that were so badly needed. _**The Order of Mandamen**, _was established under Kingsley's ruling and deemed as a recognizable functioning Magical Enforcement Team within the Ministry, given instructions to proceed with its distribution of new laws for all.

* * *

_The Change_

It turned out to be a pleasant afternoon, despite the early showers, and with nothing better to do for his birthday, Hermione, Ron and Ginny all joined Harry for sandwiches in the Great Hall together.

Hermione and Harry were talking as they walked the corridors. The high-points of their conversation centered around the Ministry's future plans for the new school year.

"Father is afraid that Kingsley's is simply not cut out for being a Minister." said Ginny after listening in to a comment Hermione had made.

Ron confirmed that their father stated this little fact the last time they spoke with him. "Father says he hasn't made one wise decision that he could think of other than increasing the Enforcement team for Aurors. Kingsley is more into hunting the last of the Death eaters than he's into governing."

"For some reason he's doubling their work load, breaking the Ministry's internal departments into more divisions, and pushing any concerns surrounding Hogwarts over to it very own sector, with Percy has the head of the department." Ginny said.

"Percy?"

It wouldn't be like Percy to turn down a chance like this one, but Harry couldn't see where Percy could help in managing the affairs in Hogwarts.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked as he walked through the double doors, Neville was standing there with other students. They found the answer hitting them square in the face.

The House tables had been completely removed from the Hall. An arrangement of low wooden, round and simple tables, with massive brown leather chairs were gleaming back at them.

Professor Sprout, Professor Trelawney, and Filch were busy arranging waxed candles and greenery as a center piece. Several students stood by in divided groups all of them with sullen faces. The Head Mistress McGonagall appear from the side door exiting from the kitchen. Several house elves following briskly behind her."The Ministry has pushed for the removal of all Houses." She gave a sighed and moved a chair out of her way, then she said. "Everyone come in please and sit down, their should a booklet for each of you, and I'll go over the changes and answer your questions as best I can."


	12. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

"Smashed"

Granger's Odd Behavior

Nothing had he ever seen, in all his years of profession, was comparable to the change in the students as in this school year. Some that once cared little about their over-all scores, suddenly where more inspired to receive "E's" than any year Professor Snape has ever had the pleasure of teaching.

So much of his profession he felt had been wasted on dunderheads who'd rather toss their magical abilities pulling pranks or snogging one another, than they were into anything school related.

_'What a pity,'_ he thought, _'that's the way these things usually go, people often wait until the bitter, rushed end to get it right.'_

The professor swung his mobility chair around and looked up and down the rows of scattered unoccupied books and vacant seats. . .

They were evidence of the change. He had only a few students this hour, his load lightened due to his condition and to McGonagall's preference of choice. He would never again teach the way he had taught before.

There were hours and hours of work to do. Mounds of needed ingredients to pickup from the Apothecary; a list of raw elements from the greenhouse, books needed that could only be retrieved from the school's restricted section and then he had to find time to care for himself.

The students requiring sixth year Potions were assigned over to Mrs. Sprout's accelerated course, this freed up the later part of his day, which he dedicated to rehabilitating his legs.

This hour was his advanced Potions class: Malfoy, Potter, Chang, Granger and a few others that were among the few he'd personally hand selected. Most of their studies involved:_** Magulation**_-the practice of manifesting combined charms and enchantments; **_Unconventional Defensive Spell_**s used only by leading ministry official, he planned to teach them every thing there was to know about potion brewing. There was still so very much they had yet to learn, he had to first reverse their restrained form of thinking, redirect their assumption of what discipline truly was. The Ministry would've strongly disapproved of their teaching methods, perhaps even charged him with a crime. He was taking a great risk, and he knew it.

Where his inspiration came from was no mystery. This lot had seen the worse. He could see it lurking behind their eyes all day, no matter what they were doing, there was always an eye out, as-if always looking for something to happen. He think they all did, now.

There were times he hit rock bottom after the battle, filled with such a suffocating veil of self-pity that was so unwrenching that he found it difficult to live from one day to the next. His heart was no longer into teaching and he'd be damned if he asked anyone for help each time he needed the simplest of things done.

But the agonizing truth was that he needed help if he wanted to regain his strength, and refuel his magic.

Once he realize the Ministry's fate for the school, once he realized the world awaiting most of them, that it had no intention on changing for the better, he sat his mind to it and swore that nothing would detour him from providing what he knew Dumbledore himself would have provided in the end; The very best.

* * *

Those that claim victory, write history.

When their apprenticeship began, there were days that he would explode with anger until they understood the importance of precise wand movement. Casting was not a bloody art of swish-and-flick, that was nonsense! It was a vital necessity of getting it right or dying. You will never defeat an attacker if you handle him as serenely as fluffing a feather. The correct pronunciation of a single word to defeat another man's threat on your life, will be as distinct as his victory and your lost.

Severus was extremely difficult most of the times, but they stood fast and kept at it, many days working late into the night, until they were able to get their wands to do the spells their professor demanded of them.

They stood when he ordered them, and sat till he dismissed them.

He rolled to the edge of the platform and said a few words to his students.

Today, he looked tired. It was unusual for him, to make a speech. Voldemort's attack on him during the battle left him alive, but only just. He was now crippled from the waist down and likely to stay that way for the rest of his sotty life, confined to a muggle contraption made of chrome and rubber wheels.

He asked, for them to not feud among one another as the end of their time together approaches, and to let go of their house differences, but to always remember them. He asked in a very weary voice, for them to study hard and to always remember everything they will learn with him this year and that he meant to teach all that he knew. He expressed the importance for them not to go out looking for trouble, too not seek revenge against Death eaters should they ever cross paths with one later in life.

He said he was pleased with them all, and that Hogwarts will always be a part of them. He asked for them to always remember that.

Everyone was puzzled by his speech. He looked so beaten and sad, and when he spoke he seemed to do so with difficulty.

Something was wrong, but none of them knew just what it was, and they were greatly relieved when he asked for them to open their books to page four-hundred and thirty seven. . .

* * *

_Now don't feel sorry for the Professor, h__e has found ways to cope and manage with this new state being rather easily now. Getting his pants on and off has gotten a lot easier as you will later learn._

_At the start, the first couple of weeks or so, it was more pig-laziness and moral pity that prevented him from leaving his chambers. He felt his meaning to this world had been served and that he should have perished with the others. He felt that death had cheated him of peace; that his grave would have suited him far better than living with the discomforts of his new bodily limitations._

_He was fifty years of age today, and with no child, no love or anyone of importance left to share his life with. All sense of purpose, of responsibility, indeed of any imaginable future, was slowly fading away and with no way to stop it or turn back the hand of time. Once his job of teaching here was done, there would be nothing—but he could blame no one for the path life has given him, he made his decision years ago._

_Harry had come back for him and for that much he was grateful. Once again he had defeated the unfortunate destiny that often seemed so eager to claim him. __He was in debt to the three, and he was one of the few teachers to remain loyal to the school and to its students. He hadn't given up. But it wasn't easy being crimpled and working for free, nevertheless he was determined to stay._

He raised his slanted black brow and noticed the approaching ending of the hour. "You will each turn in your papers by the end— of—class—tomorrow—evening."

Hermione looked up from her pile of notes. She'd been adequately writing every verbal detail required for their next assignment.

She was thrilled to be back in the comforts of her classrooms. She lowered her quill just as she heard sniggling coming from behind her.

* * *

Granger had always been first and second to none, when it came to exceeding beyond anyone's expectations. Severus very often gave an exception to her, otherwise she would exhaust his mind, many times he would have to order her out of his class, because the girl simply wouldn't partner with anyone who didn't dedicate themselves the way she did.

His first warning should have been when she began independently teaching herself the craft_** Worx of Water**_, which is one of the most powerful forms of magic, used only by extremist and highly advanced sorceress. It allows you the ability to do things such as change the weather and cure yourself of disease, this practice would be far to difficult for the others to learn quickly, because there simply wouldn't be enough time to cover it properly for everyone, but Granger was insistent on mastering the craft, so for the correct guidance he referred her to the Head Mistress. Then later she confided to Hagrid how she'd taken the night oil to working with **_Magic of the Sands_**; this the Head Mistress found very fustrating, and after that Hermione went a bit further, and began dipping into the curiosities of **_Worx of_ Woods**, a second related volume of study to _Worx of Water_. It was a much easier skill to obtain, which could allow its user the ability to improve the taste of food, restore shine to an animal's fur, or suppress a werewolf's ability to smell.

She pretended to learn like the others, at a normal pace. She studied with those from her class like a normal girl, but Severus could see she was anything but normal.

"I think she wrote every eefing word." chuckled a blonde girl beside Parkinson, who in turn was sitting directly beside Draco Malfoy and Pansy poked him to get his attention.

Draco's decision to remain here was due to the fact that his father's recent condition and because the Minister advised him that it would be safer for him at Hogwarts than at any of the other schools. It was no secret that Drumstrang Professors were connected to dark-wizards. Wizards that were still abroad and hiding, wizards that would want to target him intentionally for his parent's betrayal.

The two girls snickered softly. Draco, laughed too, but only because he didn't want to come off as some manky old swotter.

It made little difference to him if their houses had been removed. To be a Slytherin, will always be, to be a Slytherin. He eyed Hermione with a sneer but said nothing more.

He and the trio were at a mild truce since his mother's death but he had his reputation to consider.

Hermione screwed up her face at him as always and rolled her eyes at Pansy.

She was about to return to her note taking when the professor's voice rang out "Dismissed!" and every one scuttled about gathering their books.

Ron had already crossed the room, and exited out the door without her, making a mumbling sound that sounded a lot like "_Loads, how are we supposed to have any free time with another essay to do?"_

* * *

Back in the privacy of the library, she took out her diary and tapped it with her wand. The pages followed one another like leaflets falling until the very last entry lay open in front of her:

_Monday- Dear Diary,_

_I plan to join Harry, Ron and Ginny in the Great Hall for supper and_

_our usual chat. I had no idea that. . . ._

-:¦:-•:*'""*:•.-:¦:-•*:*•-:¦:-•:*'''''*:•-:¦:-

_Tuesday_- _Dear Diary,_

_The day went by fairly well. Hagrid, surprised us with a visit before our _

_next __session of Advanced Charms . . . ._

_. . . . . . . .having difficulty with zoic transfigurations perhaps. . . . ._

_. . .but for a while. Eventually, we ended up wandering off and . . . ._

_. . . .but then after class, Ron joined me along the black lake it was. . ._

* * *

Hermione sighed and slowly pushed his hands down once again.

This is what her life was to be reduced to: finishing school, graduating with honors, marring Ronald, becoming a Weasley. . . She hadn't considered children yet but it was likely a child between the two of them would give her more of a meaning to their future together. At least then she wouldn't always have this irking illness of selling a false dream of what kind of wife she wanted to be when it came to her feelings about becoming a Weasley. There were times she knew that she loved Ron, and then there were other times when. . . . .

But she mustn't dwell on inferior implications; it was nothing more than her intellect struggling against what she felt was: the right decision, and what everyone expected of her now.

She had to face the world outside of Hogwarts someday. Pay her a galleon for brightness, two for intelligence. She had nothing to fear; yet she feared it all and she wasn't ready to face it on her own.

Harry and Ginny were already making plans to wed. Seamus too, he'd gone and gotten himself caught up with Lavender. Luna was no longer attending their school.

Ron had high enough aims, he wanted to go into the family business with his brother George, and he was a modest person and he loved her. If she showed a little more patience with her heart, perhaps one day she'd get there, to the point of truly, truly loving him, the way she knew he deserved to be loved back. How long could it possibly take? '_And how many times is he going to try easing his blasted hands up my knickers.'_ she thought inwardly.

Her thoughts fumbled to an end as she took to removing his hands a third time and pushed them from beneath the pleats of her skirt, one afternoon wasted snogging, ought to be enough surely? They'll both remain undergrads if she doesn't force him into nourishing his mind rather than trying to satisfy his loins. They had to prepare for next week's exam. She pinned his right hand to her side, clutching his fingers beneath hers.

Up ahead, is the yellowish glowing light coming from a wall torch down the hall. "We're getting married right after school is over." Ron whispered in her ear, and kissed her "It's okay now isn't? I really want to be with you."

She lifted her eyes slowly to see if anyone was approaching their secret nook. But nope there was no one, not a soul.

Today was kind of like an important day for them. Ronald had given her a beautifully handcrafted jewelry to wear around her neck, they were white glossy beads, not exactly real pearls but nice, and she could tell he paid a lot for them, but it wasn't anything like the engagement ring he'd promised her, yet he kept going with this idea of marriage.

He wore a matching beaded similarity to her necklace, made of refurbished pewter, so it was a thoughtful start to their engagement, and she'd be sure to mark today down in her diary. It was after all their engagement date, kind of. . . .

However, it was also the freezing and the school was being kept as warm as it could be with so much of it still left in wreckage. Certain portions of the castle still needed repairing and Ron's hands felt extra icy against the warm skin of her breast.

He'd taken to the higher grounds of caressing under her bra instead trying his luck between her thighs. His inexperienced hands stretched the cup-padded fabric uncomfortably across her nipples, and as always, he could never figure out just how to release the clamps to her bra without her help.

When he started kissing her again and his hands gave up at that task, moving back down to the lining of her panties, she had to admit that her willingness to be a little more adventurous soon went flying out of the window.

It's not that it wasn't satisfying, it _felt_ _nice_, it was just that she needed more time. . . . She just wasn't ready for such a huge step, that's all.

But Ron was more than ready. He knew exactly where to press, where to touch, or how to toy with her so that she'd would bend to his will without thinking twice about it? This definitely made her think twice about it.

Between their kisses and the feel of his fingers coxing her flesh to give in just a little more, she began to wonder. Where had he learned all this stuff; from that book he's been reading? She doubted that seriously.

Eventually she softened, and gave in, allowing him to toy with luxury of her fleshy center below. It was uncomfortable, but tantalizing, strange and foreboding, yet tempting, very tempting and something she'd never dreamed of letting him do before. But he wanted her and Hermione could deeply sense, now that they had returned home, things between them had change also, and because she hadn't let him go any further than their usual acts of snogging before today, she couldn't help feeling bad about not letting him now. It was only that lately, he was becoming overly excited with himself and she figured she'd have to peel him off if she didn't stop him in another moment or so.

He inserted a finger inside of her and began stroking the underside of her clit, and Hermione balled her hands into a fist and her entire body became so tensed that wood would have been more willing to his touch. He shoved it in a bit more, perhaps a second finger, she couldn't really tell. She closed her eyes, the worst part was over.

She told herself that she _was_ okay with him touching her that way. But she really wasn't. It wasn't classified as real sex. She was still technically a virgin and this _would_ be their last school year. Once it was over and they'd received the last of their training, they'd both receive their legal licensing to bear wands, she'd become Mrs. Hermione Weasley and…

"That feels good." she forced out a whispering lie before she knew it.

But to her, her voice sounded phony even though she had been aiming for sexy or even erotic. She sounded like an amateur porn flick at play.

Her breathing was getting heated against the out-turned of his collar but that was simply because he was pressing so hard into her. Then she faintly heard the buzzing sound from his zipper and Hermione pushed hard against his chest, lifting up from the bench he had her laying on.

A familiar voice approached them. "Hey you two, if Filch catches you, you'll both have detention until your flesh drops from your bones."

It was Harry, and their moment of messing around disintegrated into fragments of embarrassment."O' hi Harry." she groaned and gave another gentle push against Ronald's chest.

Ron ripped his hands from beneath her skirt. "Shit!" he muttered and jumped, trying desperately to zippen back up. "Harry you bone head! For Merlin's sake! Go on, turn around would ya, I'm naked."

"Oh you're not naked Ronald! You still have your pants on." said Hermione as she sat up and eyed Harry with a loathsome glare for his intrusion so unannounced. She began with the bottom button on her blouse first, turning away to hide her own partial exposure and her shame. For once she was grateful with the idea that Ron hadn't mastered the skill of removing her brassiere.

She let her hair fall to cover her face.

"Well, I -I was . . . almost, naked." he said with a devil may care sort of smile, and his ears began to burn a bright red.

Something about that sparked a small fuse in her. Hermione leaned over and pulled out a hair brush from her bag and raked it roughly through her hair. She hadn't washed it yet, so it was beginning to frizz around the ends. Beyond the window she could hear the soft tapping of ice pellets beating against the glass behind her. She kept brushing, yanking and pulling at her tangles. It had been sleeting all afternoon; the glass was frosting, and revealing just how cold it was getting outside today. But the first snow was yet to fall. She pulled harder. . .

"Geez, I'm really, sorry!" mumbled Harry. "really. . . er. . .sorry." His face flushed just watching Ron's attempt to tuck away his boner.

Harry turned around, diverting his eyes from Hermione. He could see her expression, the down turn of her head as if she wanted to hide away behind her bushel of tangled waves.

Harry then faced the brick wall but spoke over his shoulder. "Yeah, I kinda hate to be the one to bring this up, seeing as how things were going with you two. But, aah. . . there's a meeting taking place in the Great Hall. McGonagall has called for everyone to attend."

"Oh?" Hermione stopped running the brush flat through her hair.

"We can talk, on the way back, uh, after you've dressed that is." he smiled slightly, looking over his shoulder again, this time at her directly.

She looked away.

He'd wish Ron lay off her for a spell. Harry knew that she wasn't anything like Ginny. She was just different, she was just Hermione. Maybe he'd have a talk with him about it later, when they were alone.

"It'll give Ron a moment to lose the clanger." He said then.

Ron immediately trotted past him and headed down the hall's corridor, his head bobbing with a mixture of pride and embarrassment. Harry caught up quickly, leaving Hermione to her privacy.


	13. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"Smashed"

Percy's Visit

At random, the sheets fell open, flipping along freely before stopping to reveal the unmarked page of her book. She began to write, her penmanship consisting of the smallest and most delicate of vowels, written in a neat and somewhat slanted style. The date and opening of endearment, always is rendered with especial care.

-:¦:-•:*'""*:•.-:¦:-•*:*•-:¦:-•:*'''''*:•-:¦:-

_Wednesday-_

_Dearest Diary,_

_Professor Snape is entering the room, _

_so I won't have much time to. . . ._

Two more paragraphs will follow this, they will be brief and not nearly as neat as she would like, because now she's writing in a rush—hoping perhaps that she'll finish the thoughts rambling around inside of her before the professor begins his lecture for their day.

-:¦:-•:*'""*:•.-:¦:-•*:*•-:¦:-•:*'''''*:•-:¦:-

_. . . . three more seats empty today, which_

_means that our school has lost more students._

_Luna being one of them. It's depressing,_

_and it's hard to avoid the reality that . . ._

For Hermione's sake, Professor Snape will roll his chair past her table, leaving the window shade facing hers slightly open. The others, he will bring to an absolute close as he passes.

He then turns on the slide projector. He felt a little better, now that he and Professor Flint had successfully discovered a reliable charm that could be used for the navigation on his wheelchair. This new charm allowed his to travel through the corridors a bit smoother—he felt a little better about using it now, but not much.

Apparition in and out of the confounded thing was more challenging than one would think. Apparition and disapparition is a magical act normally done in a standing upright position; with this being the case focusing on an exact target was extremely important to prevent him blotching limbs he simply could no longer feel, plus the vacuuming power when teleporting often shifted his chair with his incoming, or worse it completely pulled his wheelchair along, dragging it into the disapparition with him.

* * *

Snape looked up, it was less than a second that passed, but he notice the two girls that often teased Hermione about their repulsion to her hair. Their usual cry was that_ it_ was always in their way; blocking their view, or some other childish objection to the girl's hair.

At times their whining irritated Severus almost as much as it did her. But since it was often girls from his own house, he said little to correct their ill-mannered chastising most of the times. In the case of Granger, he felt that her badgering from girls her own age was in part due to her own need to differ herself from the troublesome norm of being an average teenage witch. Student witches simply did not venture into certain aspects of magic like she did until at least their mid-term of apprentice-hood, often after they chose a particular field of concentrated-study. Where as with Miss Granger, she began at a younger age than most.

Severus was all to familiar with this sort of mistreatment towards the girl. He knew that the other girls unacceptance of her derived from their own inability to compete with her unusual success so soon in her life.

He'd never seen a muggle-born work that hard absorbing as much knowledge as they could. Never. Except, for when he was once, like her, in this very class, only a few seats over from where she was sitting now.

He never had any friends either, except for Lily and Andromeda—Narcissa's very indifferent little sister. He never entertained girls like a normal boy, should have, but didn't. No one ever wrote to him during the holidays except for Dromeda and Lily.

The professor knew that Granger, unlike the other students would write every detail of his lecture until her knuckles bore blood. He watched her chew on her lips mindlessly as the seconds ticked away and when she showed no sign of stopping, he wondered what the hell could she be writing; he hasn't even given instructions yet?

Hermione wasn't exactly sure of it, but she felt eyes on her. . . . It was the professor's, waiting for her to stop her writing and pay attention. She lowered her quill and she felt a bit exposed when he noticed that it wasn't a spell book that held her attention, but her diary.

Severus said nothing, just stared at her. Then one single low-watt bulb lit up the images against the dingy screen and his head vanished from view as the broken black and white images of a forest reflected trees against the off-white drop cloth that hung suspended in front of the class. His old projector rumbled into a sputtering sound."Assignments now please!" He shouted against the rattling of the machine and a few jump as the booming sound of his voice and the machine invaded their teenage chit-chatter and mindless giggling.

Hermione shot up from her chair immediately with her ready, and no-doubt fully-finished report as if she'd been thrown from the barrel of a gun. But she was instantly cut-off by Parkinson as she too bolted up, tossing her slick and perfectly smooth jet black hair with the flip of her hand. She then gave a giggle of satisfaction to an audience of girls behind her. Her girlfriends laughed covering their mouths with their hands, their essays shielding their faces.

_'How could they be so cruel at every opp-tune moment?'_ Hermione felt so angry right now, so angry that she was about to explode. '_How could she still be the punch-line to their_ _ridiculous joking, after everything she's done. Did anything matter to them?'_

Her blood heated up, her teeth pressed together, her palms itched with sweat to slap Pansy's snobbish smile clear to the other end of the corridor. Few in the class noticed the incident, except for the girls behind her and Pansy. Draco noticed. But to Hermione it felt as if the entire room had seen it, and the humming of the film projector was all she could hear, the room seemed to shush-up all together, and there was a rush of gasping coming from the other Gryffindors around her. . . but this was all in her imagination.

A thin girl sitting closest to the door screamed suddenly and the room fell into a second dead silence, leaving behind nothing but the ticking of the Professor's wall clock and the sputtering of the projector.

Everyone turned around.

Hermione's attention was drawn immediately to the door, and to then screaming girl.

For a minute or more, everyone turned towards the direction of the scream, what they saw next were three men that none of them had never seen before; mysterious looking and three strangely pale men. . .

The men were standing there just inside of the doorway, and at first they looked like a pack of vampires with their waxy, almost grayish complexion, their eyes were black, lifeless and sat perched upon their faces like two large darken butterflies. The weird thing was that it felt like their eyes were alien or made of something unnatural, capable of looking right through you.

It was mid-day, and even with the coldness of the December sky looming over them, there still was some daylight coming through the rips of their window shades. Hermione drew her fingers to her mouth in silence. Vampires did not move about in the day, she knew that, and this lead her into a new wonder of who they were .

The three were wearing long cloaks, dark ones and they stepped further into the room without anyone's permission. They were well-formed, and very masculine in appearance, they were however slightly taller than any average wizard she'd ever seen. In fact, they looked almost inhumanly beautiful. . . .and their gazes how they did remind her of vampires. . .

. . Cold. . . . .Focused, almost daring you to move within their presence. . .

"That will be far enough!" Professor Snape spoke out from the front of the class. The three strangers turned on cue to the sound of his command; they stood perfectly still, absolutely motionless, each looking directly at him like a sphinx before her kill. He wheeled around his chair to face the three standing at the door. "State your business here, or you will leave this room at once!" He ordered them as if the wizards didn't look totally dangerous; as if he didn't fear their presence in his class at all.

The warning tone of his voice made Hermione tense up just a little bit more. Next, came the dull sound of the classroom door slamming and Percy stepped in between the three. Percy hesitates for an instant, and then spoke to the oldest pale man with him first.

Percy's crude attempt at a Irish accent caught her by surprise, but it was still closer to his own natural London tongue. She tilted her head in curiosity to him. His vowels and consonants seemed different, especially at the ending of his words.

The muscles in Percy's back and his neck constricted as the realization sinks in as to why he is here, he then lifted his pricey brown leather briefcase and flung it onto a student's desktop nearby. The boy sitting there jumped and scooted away at once, as the red-haired wizard pushed in the brass clamps on his case, they flipped up unlocking his papers and file records that were hiding inside.

The first pale wizard opened his mouth and began answering Percy's question. This was little more than a whisper and not clearly heard by anyone other than Percy himself, but this made no difference, as next a very strange thing happened. . . . .Hermione's mind was wiped of all thought and she felt her entire body shiver as if a draft of cold night air moved right through her. A strange presence began lifting her from the floor that was no longer there beneath her, this same unknown presence immediately locked her away into some horrible floating feeling of isolation. She gripped her essay tighter in her hand, unaware she was doing it, almost balling it up as this void washed over her entirely.

The seconds passed by and Percy ended his talk with the strange pale man, who then stepped back in place with the other two wizards by the door. . . . .High, sharp sounds, like the shattering explosion of glass fell down around her, until slowly, Hermione was released and began floating back to the familiar walls of her classroom. And as for the other students, they had all experienced the same strange return, like the way one is awoken from a dream.

Something must have made her deaf, because she knew her mouth was open, like she had been screaming but she didn't remember hearing any sound come out. . .and her throat was also sore, like she had been screaming for sometime. She was panting heavily, and she waited for her breathing and heartbeat to slow down, then she began to slowly loosen the tight hold she held on her essay. She felt light-headed, with an oddly detach curiosity to something she was beginning to wonder if she'd not . . . well, she wasn't sure what she was beginning to wonder, or if she should wonder it at all, and whatever the man had said to Percy, she couldn't remember or make out the details of their conversation nor remember just what they had talked about only moments before the strangeness took hold of her.

However, Percy seemed to be intrigued with the pale wizards response. As a matter of fact he stood there, not frowning but nodding his head equivocally to whatever the pale man had said to him.

Percy was silent for another minute and then he hardens his jaw and then softens it again.

She held her breath. He looked so grown-up she thought to herself, a bit of maturing did him justice, but then again they all changed over the summer, not one of them could be considered children anymore.

Percy examined the room with his eyes.


	14. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

"Smashed"

**Trinities**

_"You can exist without your soul, you know,_

_as long as your brain and heart are still working._

_But you'll have no sense of self any more, no memory,_

_no...anything. There's no chance at all of recovery._

_You just - exist. As an empty shell._

_And your soul is gone forever...lost."_

~Remus Lupin_POA

* * *

Unexpectedly, the second wizard with them stepped forward, pointing his finger towards the table in the rear. All eyes followed his hand movement, his back was to Percy when at last he spoke, miraculously making each student in the room receive him differently as multiple voices came rushing from every direction, every possible hidden shadow carrying them, every space that held possible reason as to why they came was like a vessel—the echoing of a ghostly chatter kept turning word after word, until the air filled with the strangeness of his presence. And the force of it brought them all to such a grinding halt that no one could block. . .

Each of their eyes snapped shut instantly, and they felt their bodies slowly lifting up from their seats, and it felt as if their very bodies were floating freely into the shards of whispers, each voice would gradually grow louder until finally the feeling of strangeness took them flying into a space beyond the now and where their world, ceased. Not one of the students moved, nor could anyone hear, not in a normal way too what was being said between the Professor, Percy and the three wizards.

At this moment the absence of freedom for Hermione, like the others, was replaced by isolation within seconds. Her mind was imprisoned again and this time the paralyzing freeze over her mind and body frightened her as the voices began to roam deep inside her thoughts, moving in and out of it with a physical phenomenon she could find no reasoning to. The air felt stiff, and she was positive that she wasn't imagining the feeling of someone else inside her head anymore than she was imagining the very real feeling of flying. Next she saw a distant fog, moving closer towards her. Glittering, silver threads began appearing, swirling around her like silver hairs, pushing against the sudden blackness that came with the voices. The shining silk flowed around her body,and she felt fuzzy like in a dream.

* * *

On December 9, something dreadfully terrible happened within the Ministry's Department of Mysteries, thus Kingsley handed Percy over the immediate right to any office and official documentation needed to stop the new rising danger that was now facing them head on. This meant an enormous turn of fortune for his family, so Percy accepted it.

He could now take his official place as a leading administrator for the department and would immediately begin receiving special allowances and payments large enough to support all of his family needs. Including the still lingering cost for his brothers burial. His father was still comparatively a poor man, but even more so with the large number of them now living at the Burrow for securities sake. His brother Bill was undergoing drastic changes, and it would be a while before he could support living a normal life, plus he and Fleur were expecting their first child; His little sister Ginny still had another year before completing her magical studies and their mother was still pretty dependent on weekly counseling sessions at St Mungos.

Kingsley who was now strongly confirmed in his new powers, remained a bitter enemy to anyone connected to Death eater activity, and was determined to crush any still bent on supporting the rising era of darkness. This meant sleepless nights for Ministry workers under orders and for those that had willingly submitted useful information against Voldemort followers. Whole families were placed under Ministry protection, but they also fell victim to the command and dictation of Magical Law Enforcement Officials. A normal life was far from normal right now.

One currently being affected by the aftermath of the battle was Lucius Malfoy. He had already testified that his life as a Death eater had been a blind and misleading lie he no longer accepted or wanted.

Some believed his need for cleansing was done either in vengeance or in grievance following his wife's murder. His first hand-testimony was given during a Wizengamot court hearing, and it revealed each and every corrupt official he had ever done business with on the behalf of The Dark Lord request. But the public was not to know that part of it. Names had been concealed and Lucius before totally disappearing from the public's eye warned them of serious Disloyals, existing among their higher officials. And even though names by Lucius had been disclosed. . .they had not been forced out.

* * *

_...The pale middle aged wizard began to speaking freely to Percy and then to the eldest standing beside them both spoke next . . ._

There was something in the darkness with Hermione. . . .growling and distant, but there, definitely there. Something beyond the immediate coming and going of ghostly whispers attempting to get inside her mind, something deep, ancient. . . she starred into the shimmering lines and the gray fog as if trying to see what it was in there with her, but then the silver lines grabbed her and held her in place, she felt them pulling her, warning her to stay within the shield. Then she heard it again, a growl almost like a voice, low, not like the whispers, not coming from the shimmering lines, but from someplace else.

She began dreaming again and silently thinking. She was strangely conscious of herself dreaming, aware that she could not feel any part of her body. Suddenly there was chaos in the movement of her strings and she began to hear the low growl once again, circling beyond her and now the silver lines swooped and swirled pushing her through the darkness like a wisp of light, the voices coming from the wizard kept moving with her, on and off, on and off the voices came but the darker voice, the other one looking for her called out for her in the distant, it told her to wake up and get out of the room. But the power coming from the ghostly whisperings were ten times stronger.

All at once and as if of their own free will, the shiny strings and white fog joined around her, braiding themselves together, sealing her in a cyclone of stars and pure light. She plunged when they plunged and rose when they wanted her to rise. Now she couldn't obey the other voice no matter how it pleaded, no matter how it cried and demanded her. Hermione shook her head once, twice. "No," she said, refusing to obey even the command coming from the vortex of lights now. She tried to scatter the dream-like state, blinking several times but still nothing would change the hold of the magic as it kept spinning like a thick cocoon around her, and there was the constant breaking of glass beyond the magical spinning. . . . constant breaking and shattering as if something was attempting to get through. Then the cry of the voice began to change and Ron was calling for her beyond vortex now.

She didn't know if that was good or bad. Maybe it was both. She only knew that she longed to be free. She got her wish as the wizards and Percy slowly ceased their conversation reducing the magic's hold and allowing her to plunged and remain motionless temporarily. . . .

She pushed both her hands forward slightly separating the magic just enough to peer out of it. After a minute of carefully looking out, she allowed the strange protection to fall back in place around her. Then something ripped through the small opening just before it closed, it joined the white light, the darkness blended with it almost instantly, making her feel helpless to stop it. Inwardly she felt desperate to move away from the mixing as a strange growling faded away deep somewhere inside the vortex with her.

* * *

Seth started speaking again_._

"_I can see her. . . .Professor. . . .I can see the girl_." he said. Seth was the third wizard standing at the door and he was younger in age, seventeen, and what he said caused for the other two wizards to take notice.

He then lifted his arm and pointed in the direction of Draco's table.

"_Which one son?"_ asked the eldest as he looked in that direction.

"_Just a girl I suppose."_ the boy responded back. Seth wanted to move closer to her. But centering his magic wasn't something that came easy for him, yet every nerve ending in his body celebrated the simple act of walking over towards her table. Why could he see her so clearly and not the other kids in the room.

* * *

Take this very instant to pause our story, So that I may introduce you to something you've often wondered about but until now have not had the pleasure of meeting or understanding.

The wizards standing at the door and speaking with Percy and ordered to stand still by Professor Snape, are **Unspeakables. **An Unspeakable is a witch or wizard whose powers differ greatly from that of a normal witch or wizard.

How you ask?

Well, let's just say they are a creation of old magic, but not in a normal sense of speaking.

The third Unspeakable, over there the one no longer standing beside Percy but approaching Draco's table, is the youngest under the other two wizards; his name is Seth. The first wizard is their Professor and you will come to know him as Professor Geideon, he's also a trainer at the Department of Mysteries. Geidon is also an Unspeakable. Lean with dark hair and gray sideburns along his temple and he has never married. His life has been a life of service.

Professor Geideon received Seth when he was nine years old, the transition from Seth's old home where he had spent most of his childhood alone with his mother, to the new and unwelcoming isolation of the Ministry's confinement was a difficult change in the boy's young life because Seth's mother was not of their magic, meaning she was just a normal witch.

Babes born as unspeakables are to be handed over to the Ministry directly after birth; they are better cared for that way and thus become property of the Ministry. Many parents are unable to withstand the cries of an infant born with such supernatural powers, yet-alone care for one, or raise one into adulthood, it is far too dangerous for everyone and especially for the child since the rise of Dark Wizards. Unspeakables have been hunted down as children and if even one were to fall into evil hands it would be a seriously dreadful situation, if they are not properly trained, unspeakables are highly dangerous to everyone magical or non-magical.

But Seth's mother refused to give him away. She loved him more than her own life. . . .this mattered not, because Death Eaters came for her and her child all the same, and her life was the price for her ignorance.

It had not been that way with Professor Geideon's other student, Tabor who was the middle-aged Unspeakable with them. The Ministry had received Tabor when he was little more than half-a-day old.

So, what purpose does an Unspeakable hold? Well, mortals regardless of the fact that you are of magic or not, we are all born in **Trinities**. Trinities— meaning we have three bodies. To start with, you inherit your first body from the moment you are conceived as a babe, and it will grow and age with you on a day to day. Our second body is the being that dwells within many of us. You may feel it from time to time but will never see the second body of any living person; it is a spirit, the soul of a person, like the one that may be sucked away by a Dementor's Kiss, or spoken too by an Unspeakable. The soul is shapeless and without form, many times appearing as nothing more than a speck of delicate light. This is the body, the second body, which Tom Riddle took upon himself to divide seven times—a most unnatural act of evil.

And lastly, we have our third and final form, the third body.

Older and wiser people of magic may call this the Ghost, or the body of the dead! It is never to be confused with the second body which is the mistake often made by muggles.

The third body, is not the soul, it is that which awaits us in the after-life of our death. It waits in a realm outside the living. . . .

Do you recall the archway that took Sirius in the Deparment of Mysteries? Yes, well it was a gateway into that world which holds all thirdly bodies.

Many people both magical and none, often forget or they are ignorant to the existence of the second body (the inner being)—They often fear that once our first body is gone, that it's over and done and we must spend eternity as either a ghost, banshee, or some other unnatural thing wandering about; some also believe that in the end there will only be two choices: up or down. . . . this is not so! And there are those of the highest Magical Authority who will tell you this is simply not true.

For example: our old and forgotten friends Nicholas Flammel and the late Albus Dumbledore who spoke many times of life after exiting one's physical body. The second energy, or soul of a person will be given a new form for the next transition; the next great adventure. Where they go remains a mystery. . . highly guarded information by all thirdly bodies of the outer world, and they believe that this is not knowledge to be shared with the living, and this is all they will say.

But I can tell you this much of my knowledge when it comes to **Trinities**. The second body must reach the third to carry on, or to exist at all, or ever again. . . .That is why the dividing of the soul is an irreversible, most evil, an ever-lasting-unchangeable thing. It was also the reason Tom feared death so severely.

He learned too late in his quest for knowledge of the damaged he'd done to himself. He discovered too late that he simply could not die, not ever. Because he had nowhere to go. He destroyed his second body. The salvation of his awaiting third body was closed to him now and for all eternity— for him, there truly was nothing after his life.

Let's turn our attention back to the Unspeakables shall we, and learn more of who they are, what they are, and more importantly what they can do.

* * *

_". . .she is not pure."_ Professor Geideon said Tabor.

_". . .Nope."_ Tabor quickly answered his father, then he looked over towards the Slytherin girl that Seth had spoken of. He saw many things living inside of her, dark things, evil secrets, one crept out and took to hiding on the left side of her watching them, while others slithered from his sight drawing themselves back into the her eyes, nose and even beneath her nail tips.


	15. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

"Smashed"

The Call

_"Are you certain?"_ The Professor asked his son Seth. Professor Geideon didn't turn around, he didn't want to lose his hold on the Malfoy's son.

_"Yes, I'm certain." _answered Seth.

"_We came for the boy Malfoy, not a girl!"_ laughed his brother Tabor. Seth was standing not even two feet away from his brother, so Tabor couldn't help but notice the pained look as it crossed the younger Unspeakable's face. In that moment his little brother looked so young, so sure that he was seeing something each time he looked her way. They should have never agreed to let him come with them, thought Tabor then. Soon the possibility of Seth not being ready to use his powers hit him and he began to wonder on his brother perceptibility of this particular girl was perhaps due to the fact that he was just being more sensitive to the demonic darkness surrounding her than they were. The other two: Geideon and Tabor began to center their gaze onto their main objective, the Minister was awaiting their immediate return_. _

Draco quickly learned it caused severe pain to resist their arrest, it didn't matter if he didn't want to leave with them, every word traveling from them through him, every expelled command over-powered his ability to use magic against them. And then there was those eyes; the only thing he could focus on were those eyes. It was as if someone had drawn unnatural black holes, right where their orifices should have been and the glare coming from them held a force all its own. It arrested his freedom the moment he looked into them,one glance, one command from their lips and he was ensnared.

Percy kept his eyes on Severus, fearful that he may attempt to intervene in some way. As Percy stepped away from the door, Severus moved closer and their eyes met. For a moment the full force of a dark-eyed Slytherin-born hatred was directed solely towards Percy and his pack of Unspeakables.

But Percy was very skilled now at taking control of situation such as this one. "Professor! I'm delighted to see that you're doing well. How's the chair? Working well for you assume. I'm sorry for the interruption," Percy said and took a pile of papers baring the seal of M.O.M up in his right hand. "but there's been an urgent matter, and I'm afraid I have orders to remove Draco Malfoy from your class!"

Deliberately Professor Snape wheeled his mobility chair across the wooden pattern of the platform, thumping his way roughly down the steps of it and past the projection until he reached the bottom floor."You'll—do—no—such—thing," his voice vibrated with every thump of his wheel. "Your orders come from what authority?" he demanded loudly. "What business would Unspeakables have with a student. Shouldn't you be out looking for dangers, greater than that of a seventeen year old boy Mr. Weasley?"

Draco stomped around a second longer as his body continued to resist, the door to their room squeaked open, and Professor Gideon looked back and said to Percy. "We have who we came for. Are you alright, Sir?"

Percy said nothing at first and then after a long pause he answered the Unspeakable, and confirmed that everything was fine between him and Severus. This man had been his teaching was upon a time but he had never feared the Professor like most had from his year. Percy just stood eying the Potions Master with a calm, undisturbed stance. As a result, years of mastering Legilimency and Occlumency made wizards like Severus nearly as dangerous as unspeakables. Therefore he was significantly stronger than most when encountering Unspeakables in small numbers. But not entirely, Professor Geideon was in his own right a highly advance work of art.

"Again my apologies for interrupting your class and you are correct, I should be out seeking dangers greater than that of a seventeen year old boy. But unfortunately circumstances require that Draco be taken into our custody for the evening. Our orders are from the Minister Kingsley himself."

Severus stopped and thought quickly about the safety of the other students in the class. All of them sat catatonic, froze in a trance-like state. Deep down the reality of what was happening to each one of them settled uneasily with him.

Wizards like these were capable of doing a lot more than paralyzing a mere class of kids, and if they were summoned to find you, then you were more than a hardened criminal and they would stop at nothing to apprehend their target.

* * *

"_No. . . . Seth. . .wait !" _said Geideon suddenly, he and Tabor both turned. Tabor lunging for him first, but the younger Unspeakable quickly jumped out of his reach, finding himself face to face with Pansy. The other two unspeakable watch curiously as he closed the distance between them.

This was unexpected. Professor Geideon glanced over towards the girl that Seth had questioned them about only a moment ago and then his gaze fell back to Tabor. Geideon's powers when released momentarily from Draco and applied in the direction of the girl told him that she was the daughter of an extremely dangerous man. Her father was an active Death eater, a grandmaster and currently in hiding, her family left behind a large amount of inheritance making her a very wealthy young lady.

Professor Geidon locked his powers back onto Draco and blew out a deep breath—he shuttered to think that he had not been as adequate of a teacher as he should have been with the Seth and could blame none other than himself for the boy's lack of understanding the world beyond the department's protection.

Professor Geideon's brow creased as she sat perfectly still allowing the Unspeakable to approach her. Suddenly her eyes sprung open and shifted toward Seth. They were black as pitch, a normal effect when the soul is being controlled by darkness. It was his own fault that Seth had not mastered the exact powers by which their abilities functioned, he was well beyond the age now, but from the moment he'd arrived as a young boy, Seth came with a load of problems and a rebellious nature to match. Training him in the shadowy arts of speaking wasn't easy; Seth despised the mysteriousness lurking behind Unspeakable powers more than he despised living under the Department's control. To Seth, they were an unnatural creations and the reason for his mother's death.

He took another step towards Parkinson as the other two continued to ordered him not to involve her. For the next ten seconds Seth felt strange like he was in a permanent heightened state of existence_. He had never felt that before. _

His coming here was no coincidence, and it did not involve the Malfoy's son. He was meant to find her. Time and space now felt so complexed between them, more than anything he could have ever imagined possible. He couldn't put it into words what he felt when he looked at her. Parkinson turned towards his lean frame approaching her side of the table, she felt the air constricting around her each time Seth began to speak to her, her heart began beating rapidly. For an instant she wondered if she was dreaming all the images coming and going because there were so many, then suddenly there was only one, zoned in and solely inside of her connecting her directly to him.

Through the shimmering strings and the mist rising around her, were the other dark voices again commanding her, now she was so afraid, it was like watching a beautiful dream being ripped apart and knowing you would never awaken from it.

Sorrow filled him when he saw another dark shadow slip inside of her.

_". . . .what is your name, Tell me your name so I can help you."_ The sound of Seth's voice began stripping away at the darkness wanting to conceal her thoughts. She released tears that tracked heated trails down her cheeks. Each beat of her heart rocked her as another dark shadow detached itself from the depths of the darkness surrounding her, and begain engulfing her bit by bit.

He forced his body to solidified for her to find him, his influence over the darkness intensified with every step. The pounding in her heart increased, an eerie emptiness shifted around her, this emptiness was large enough to fill the universe, quickly arranging and rearranging through the shimmering folds of light and within seconds she could now see the pale skin of Seth's hand as clear as her own. Suddenly his slender hand went down into his pocket and pulled out the full length of his Hawthorn wand, his use of it gave her a better view of him.

His skin was pure white, as if it had never seen the sun, his hair extremely pale and long, his bone structures were very well defined, his masculine body so well-honed that it seemed to be sculpted from the hand of a god. Nothing could have prepared her soul for coming face to face with him. . . he reached out his hand breaking through the silvery mist. . . .

. . . The air in the room shimmered. . . .

_"No Seth!"_ screamed his father.

But it was to late, Geideon knew the boy had placed a calling upon the girl, making him unconditionally bound to her for the rest of his life.

When this happens there is an immediate pull of surrounding powers, thus explaining the shimmer they all saw. Seth saw it, it caused for him to shiver involuntarily and the tiny hairs along his arm and the back of his neck lifted. Dozen of demons expelled from Pansy all at once, the strongest of them abducted her soul and was sent racing about the room with it. Instead of dying, Seth's claim upon her took place.

He looked up. There are so many of them he thought as he watched the shadows circling above her and within moments they all came crashing down, reclaiming her again.

Something was seriously wrong and he knew it. Now without a question in his mind he could feel all the unwanted things living inside of her and pulling her further away from a happy life. . . .

_"YOU MUSTN'T TOUCH HER!" _screamed Professor Geideon.

At that time his Professor rushed over to him, and Seth seemed to freeze with unexplainable look of fear in his eyes not exactly sure of what had taken place.

Professor Geideon and Tabor both had witness the calling happen. But it all happened so quickly, they had little time to warn him of the dangers.

Seth turned back to find her but she was shaking so frantically now as the monsters he unleashed inside of her began torture her. Pansy screamed and screamed and screamed, she was drowning. Seth froze instantly with fear; he didn't know which was worse. The fear of the harm he had cause her or the hated reality in knowing he could never engage in a world he wanted very much to be a part of.

* * *

The reason for _**Calling**_ is unknown, its one of those glitches that came with the gender of male Unspeakables, a sort of territorial behavior to insure his need for finding a life-mate.

The risk of one of them calling on this expedition was never a part of their day's plan and now the ice cold realization that Seth had called and was not yet fully ready to use his powers or even aware of how to use them in order to deliver her was more than any of them had planned on.

Tabor moved forward and held out his arm, pulling his younger brother away quickly and coming between him and the girl he'd just called upon. Seth immediately fought against his brother's hold.

This was a critical moment. When a calling has taken place all male Unspeakables become extremely protective of the one chosen. She has in a sense become one of them unless she decides otherwise.

The two professors: Severus and Geideon rushed over to her side keeping a fair amount of distance between her and Seth. Pansy went completely out of control, screaming and thrashing as the two wizards hurled her to the floor. Severus caught his leg on the bracket of his chair, tearing skin from his ankle, but felt nothing at all. "Get him out of here before he destroys her." Severus screamed as loud as he could, directly at Tabor. "You brought an untrained Unspeakable out into society. Are you mad!"

Tabor frowned at the man that had just shouted at both him and his father, he then tried speaking calmly to his younger brother who was refusing to listen and only making matters worse. Professor Geideon placed a finger at the base of her temple, putting her into a near death like sleep and silencing the strongest of her demons. He knew that even though Seth had called upon the girl's soul, it didn't necessarily mean that the calling should be allowed. Seth was just a boy, and nowhere near capable of bringing a Death eaters daughter to the level she needed to reach, in order to become the chosen to an Unspeakable. Therefore, the transformation needing to take place between them would have to remain incomplete, at least until he could give his son the knowledge he needed to undo the damage holding her second body captive.

After a great deal of fighting, Seth stepped back and obeyed his brother.

It was not because he feared the threats coming from Severus, no. He trusted his brother and everything his brother had just said to him. The two were not truly brothers, but they were as dear as brothers could be, they were bounded by the same magic and Seth understood that Tabor was only trying to protect him. He told him that first phase of the call had regretfully been done and that he understood how badly he wanted to go to her, but that touching her right now would send them into a second phase, making it extremely dangerous for everyone there, plus he could accidentally kill her in a foolish attempt to deliver her prematurely.

Seth's heart was breaking as he watched Geideon suppressing her rage.

Why had she become his chosen?

_Pansy_. . . .her name traveled around in his mind like a new found illness. She gave him a new reason to hate his powers. But, it was because of her that he was now willing to accept this life given to him and if he truly wanted a future with her, he now little choice, he simply had to master the ways of this cursed life. He could barely understand the influence his powers held over normal wizards and witches, and this was to be his first assignment, and his first time beyond the Ministry since he arrived eight years ago.

When he first saw her, he felt a deep and eternal need to go to her and hold her. It was like gravitational pull uncontrollably drawing him towards a new star. He saw images of her and him together, he saw their life, he saw the day they would die and the way, but he also saw the face of his son and his daughter, the children she was destine to give him. He had seen them all, felt them all and knew the joy their life would have for years to come. . . .now, every step he took away from that life was physically painful for him from that moment on.

Severus lifted her eyelids to examine her. Seth didn't appreciate what Professor Snape had just said to him, and he didn't appreciate him touching her either. Before today, before the calling, he had little sense of responsibility. In fact his lack of concern was the reason the Professor and his brother had arranged for him to come with them on this particular assignment. They were hoping to bring about some balance of interest into his birth right. He was an active official but refused to act like one.

He only agreed to come along to please his brother, he care nothing about the others at the department, and he hadn't come to harm anyone, least of all her. But now all other aspects of his day— his birth right—even his born duty to their Ministry became secondary to him the instant he found her. He refuse to accept the images he saw of them together as just some probable possibility. When he found her, he saw their future, and it was very real. But should he not be able to deliver her and Pansy chose a different life he would be left in deep emotional pain for the rest of his, with no alternative. He wouldn't let that happen to his family, he wouldn't lose her, every day from this moment would be for her.


End file.
